The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

They were a gasp ahead of it. Luke could feel the hot wind at their heels. Every closed door in the apartment complex was a tombstone. He filled a suitcase and his work briefcase with necessaries—two pairs of underpants, passport, shirts. On TV the news anchors seemed uncertain, and every headline ended in a question mark. It read “NEW CONTAGION?” when he shut it off, firmly.

Paige took longer than he liked, fretting over belongings. Eventually he zipped up her two suitcases and said, eyes firmly on hers, “lets go.”

“Alright,” Paige said, taking a last look around. It was hot out, but they were both in travel clothes—jeans, shirt, sweater—good for any circumstance. His fiancee filled a glass of water to the absolute tip and drank it all down. A droplet ran down her chin and onto the floor. Luke eyed her, wondering—was it in the water supply? That was probably on the news just then—“WATER SUPPLY??” In impact font.

“We’re not gonna stop to pee,” he warned her.

“I promise not to make any of it into pee,” she promised, putting her hand on her heart. “It’s going to be all blood and maybe a little sweat.”

“That’s a promise,” Luke said. They both paused, listening. It was still and silent. Was it always like that? It wasn’t often they stopped and listened to nothing on a Sunday afternoon. “Lets get out of town.”

They nearly made it. Paige spent the final hour humming tunelessly to whatever the radio played. Eventually she cinched her legs up on the dashboard. The humming stopped.

“This is it,” she said, eventually. “We have to stop. This is the moment.”

“There’s a plague,” Luke said. “Apparently.”

In truth, what they were running from was amorphous and vague. Luke’s friend Colin—doctor, well-informed, absolutely reliable—had texted panic messages. Even as texts, appearing in a bright blue bubble, they were unnerving. “LEAVE CITY ASAP AVOID EXPOSURE. NOT A DRILL.”

And then one more: “WEIRD SHIT.”

That had been the last text from Colin. He’d been a stalwart presence during COVID-19 on everyone’s facebook pages, counseling proper distancing and lending advice on masking. For him to order an immediate evac was… disturbing. Weren’t they supposed to stay where they were? Luke had relayed the messages on to a bevy of worried responses—where had he heard this from? What was it based on? News organizations had just caught wind of a problem when Luke and Paige had fled. They were still setting up cameras on the calm exterior of medical buildings.

Now the couple was hours off from the city, and the roads were all narrow. Luke pulled into a diner just ten minutes away from the lake house.

“Stay here while I check it out,” he cautioned Paige, who ignored him, barreled out of the car, and into the glass-fronted restaurant. It was open and bustling. Luke hesitated about putting on a mask—no reason to let the locals know that a transmission vector was in town. But he was hungry. He kept the mask in the car.

“Two,” he told the waitress. She had a good local waitress look, Mom-adjacent with big wide hips. Paige had disappeared somewhere. “We’re in a.. actually…” the truth was, he was damn hungry. “bacon and eggs and toast for three? Coffee for four?”

“Congrats on the bun in the oven,” the waitress said, as he slid into the booth. Normal waitress repartee. It was a relief. Luke fake-laughed to it. “You two come down from the city this morning?”

“No,” Luke said, settling on a lie. It was lucky he hadn’t shaved that morning. The story would be: they’d been camping.

“Something’s up is why I ask,” the waitress said. She glanced over at a TV up on the wall. It was scratchy and snowy, not just fuzzed with black and white but with a glazed pink and purple swirl. It looked vaguely like some sort of press conference was set up. Luke could just make out flags around a podium. But there was no one there to talk. They both stared at it for quite some time.

“Oh my goodness I am thinner now,” Paige said, breaking in. “I peed out a separate person. Oh, nice, diner coffee!”

They both looked at her, startled. The waitress had poured too much, looking at the television fuzz, and there was a growing black pool on the formica. She pulled the pot up, embarrassed. “I’ll be back in a second. Where did you say you were headed?”

They hadn’t, and Luke wasn’t about to say.

“Oh, down the street,” Paige said, cheerfully. “Pretty much. You know that little bitty lake over by Barlow? My family has the lake house!”

Once inside they both washed their hands for twenty full seconds..

Paige collapsed onto a sagging yellow couch with real relief, drying her hands off on the old fabric cover. “Civilization!” she said, dramatically.

“Not civilization.”

“The opposite of civilization,” Paige said. She remained there while Luke brought the suitcases in. He’d used her slow packing to bring a lot of the pantry with them. Eggs, cooking oil. The air had a warm, bone dry feel, and every light switch shocked him with static discharge. Every wall was wood paneled. There was a Billy Bass with expired batteries overlooking the kitchen table. The refrigerator was the color of old eggshells.

“It’s just like I remembered,” Paige said, pleased. She’d held onto a key just to feel like part of the family.

“I hope the TV works. There used to be this weird guy who did puppets at six in the morning on local public access. I think he ended up killing himself. Holy shit, turn on the TV.”

Luke finally permitted himself to drink water. He’d only needed to pee a trickle, which he was very proud of. His head pounded. The TV was a mess of wet static, although there was some sort of audio coming through. They both listened to it, intent.

“Music?” Luke hazarded. “Am I hearing that? Like a ba-bum-ba thing?”

“Maybe,” Paige agreed. She sat cross-legged on the couch and, in fact, hadn’t moved since arriving. “It’s kinda nice. Like a white noise, mmm-bmmmm—mmm. You know?”

They listened to it a little longer.

“No reception,” Luke noted, shaking himself. His headache pounded to the beat of the television. He held up his phone, which was at zero bars. “We’re not THAT far away from a town.”

“Hmmm,” Paige held her phone up. She shook it. “No go.” She finally stood up. “Lake?” she suggested, finally.

The lake was truly beautiful. Blue with a mirror finish, each and every tree with its own perfect reflection. It was mid-summer, hot. There didn’t seem to be any bugs about. The lake was rimmed with just a few houses, all of them quiet and silent. The sun was getting low.

Paige came out in a bikini.

“What, really?” Luke said, surprised. “Seriously?”

Paige gestured at the house. “Lake house. Lake.” It was a very dark navy blue, and covered in white polka dots. Paige had short brown hair, cropped to just below her ears. Ordinarily he liked looking at her in a swimsuit. She was his fiancee for a reason. But it seemed—wrong.

“Something is horribly wrong. In the world. I don’t know if swimming is the answer,” Luke said.

“I figured you’d say something like that, which is why I brought your swim shorts even after you left them behind,” Paige said. The back deck was still closed up, although there was a shed nearby that probably held all sorts of dead-bug patio furniture. She bounced off down to the short beachfront. It was mostly dead grass and stones. Luke followed just to keep the conversation going.

“There’s a horrible pandemic.”

“Is it horrible?” Paige said. She’d taken her glasses off to swim, which meant he got a rare look at her actual face. Was there a hint of smugness? Of calm disbelief?

“Colin wouldn’t mess around. And it was already on the news. Something is up.”

She stood with her toes in the water. It was a musty green right at the shoreline. “Would you rather we went inside and played Chess?” He hated chess. With Paige. She routinely waxed him. “Or Trivial Pursuit? From 1995? If there’s really a thing we’re all doing a bunch of swimming. It’s HOT. Are you actually mad at this? Go inside and see if the family booze collection is intact.”

Luke hadn’t gotten engaged by fighting every fight. Back inside he checked her phone, on the off chance she had more reception than he did.

There was a text message on the lock screen. It wasn’t clear how long ago it had popped up, or how—her phone read a resolute 0 bars. But it did. And when Paige got inside, hair wet, that’s when they had the real fight.

The couch was awful. It smelled like dozens of years of wet family butts. If it had been leather it might’ve been tolerable, but it was a knit of some sort, and every mistake Paige’s family had made was lodged somewhere deep inside some of the cotton. It was also a half-foot short of comfortably accommodating a six foot tall male who had been banished from the communal bed. Luke checked his phone, which was now just a 0-bar watch. Just shy of midnight.

It had been a truly bad fight.

The worst part was that he had seen how it would unfold from the first instance. The things they’d say to each other. Yes, he had gone through her phone. Yes, he was being a snooping jerk.

Nonetheless: the texts had read:

[The Lake House, right? Can I come too?

Feeling really worried!]

From the bridesmaid group chat, from someone named Claire that he had never met who was presumably some kind of close college friend. Or whatever. Actually, she had to be a friend from High School or even earlier, because she knew exactly where the lake house was. Had perhaps slept on that same couch.

Luke knew, was sure, that he slept in his actual bed all the time mildly curled up, his knees drawn up towards his chest. There should be no reason he couldn’t do so on the gross couch. Where it touched his skin the fabric ground in, exploring his nervous system. But it was far too hot to sleep with a shirt on, or much of anything. It didn’t help that the actual master bedroom contained a magnificent bed, already made up, that had been waiting patiently for an exhausted couple to climb in between nice clean sheets.

There was a knock at the door. More of a slam. Luke sat up. His cell phone read 12:51 a.m., which meant he must’ve slept somehow. He was covered in sweat. He hesitated—the intellectual, the unimpeachably correct thing to do, was to not open the door. He’d personally checked the locks on every window and door, after the fight. He’d told himself: when Claire shows up, if she does, she can sit in her car while they discuss a proper quarantine.

Paige stumbled in and threw open the lock. She didn’t wear much more than Luke—a chemise that he didn’t remember her owning. He opened his mouth to yell—what? Slam the door?

A bedraggled young woman stepped in. “At least make her—” but she and Paige shared a long hug.

Luke blew out a breath. It would be okay. During the big pandemic things were slow to spread. He tried to tamp down anxiety. “Wash your hands!” he said.

Claire—he assumed it was Claire—broke the hug, looked apologetic. Paige had the presence to look mildly abashed. Right, wash your hands, that was the rule. She was in his house, or his fiancee’s house, but at least he had made that much progress back. Paige and Luke looked at each other while Claire scrubbed up, humming Happy Birthday to herself for twenty seconds. If she offered him a handshake, Luke thought, she was going back in the car.

“I’m PRETTY sure I’m not sick,” she told them.

Claire sat in the rocking chair. More poor containment. She should’ve stripped, showered. She wore jeans that looked rumpled and threadbare, a creased and worn black button-down, her purse still across her chest. A glasses-wearer. They were of the same general model of white brunettes. Except—and Luke couldn’t help notice—Claire had big boobs. They were hidden deep inside the shirt, but they were there.

“I’m not even sure what the symptoms are,” Luke said. “We booked it immediately. You probably know more than we do.”

Claire shrugged. “I don’t—really... “ she flushed. “I left when… someone in my apartment complex... got it. I think.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was.. Moaning,” Claire didn’t look them in the eyes. “Really, really loud moaning. REALLY loud.”

They all considered that. “Like she was… in pain?” Paige probed.

Claire slowly shook her head, considered, then waved it back and forth. “I don’t know what I heard.” Her face was distant, focusing out past the double glass doors out over the lake. It was too dark to see. There were no lights on at all. “The radio cut out halfway here. Just static on every station. I don’t know… why it would do that. It’s the radio. I tried to tell you I was coming but… no reception.”

“You’re safe here,” Paige said. She had clearly seen Luke open his mouth to say something like: go sleep in the car. “We’re gonna hole up and do a heck of a lot of swimming. Did you bring your suit?”

“I brought the clothes I’m currently wearing,” Claire said. They shared a moment of looking at those clothes. One pair of underpants, one bra. “And some workout stuff in the trunk. And a car, I guess?. Can I stay?”

The air was very heavy. The clock struck 1:15.

“The guest room,” Paige said.

Claire sneezed. It was like a gun fired through the window. For the first time, Luke saw a trace of fear trickle across his fiancee’s face. She only slowly managed to force it away. Claire had tried to get her elbow up in time, failed, and left a spray cloud of nose across the entire middle of the living room.

“Lets go to bed,” Paige suggested, brightly.

“There’s a guest room?” Luke said.

At least he’d made his way back into the communal bed. And he’d slept well. When he awoke Luke half-expected a fever, congestion, nasal drainage. Of course he felt great, even with less than five hours total asleep. He even had a glowing and persistent erection. It was completely inappropriate for the situation, and insisted on itself as he lazed under old covers. He stretched out, which just made it stronger, firmer.

“I guess we’re back on quarantine time. It’s nearly eight-thirty,” Paige said, slipping out of the bathroom. The towels had to be thirty years old, but she’d found one not impossibly petrified and wrapped it around herself. Her hair was all wet curls. “You feel okay?”

Luke recognized this as an apology gambit. He had, after all, been right—now they’d acquired a roommate. It’d be easy to play the “I was right” card, but for what? Instead he pulled the covers aside to reveal his dick aching under pajama pants.

They were both very good at makeup sex; it was one of the cornerstones of a healthy relationship. Paige had even commented on it—called it the result of poor dating decisions in her twenties, that she had gotten so skilled on handling penises to end disputes. Luke had always found that to be a depressing way to think of it. What better and more satisfying way to tie off a fight then with mutual orgasms? It was a reaffirmation of their love, right? Paige sighed in the way that told Luke he was about to be thoroughly fucked, and let her towel drop.

“You look flushed,” she told him, striding forward. Her tits were still damp. “Feverish, even.” She ran a finger up the backside of his dick, then freed it from the pajama pants.

“You look… uhhhhh… hot,” Luke said. Cheesy lines were another relationship touchstone. “Let me take your temperature with my penis.”

“Certainly, doctor,” Paige said. She climbed on top of him, getting the covers wet, and pushed him in. For a moment he was startled—his fiancee was so wet. Had she..? In the shower…? But then she winked at him and squeezed, and Luke lost his concentration.

They hit a rhythm right away, which usually took some work. And right after that, Paige lost her own stride, which usually meant she was getting close to cumming. They’d been fucking for maybe a minute. The box springs of the bed started to shriek right away. Usually Luke was fine with letting his fiancee grind her way to an orgasm. Today he took big handfuls of ass and bounced her up and down. It was very aggressive for him, but Paige didn’t seem to mind. She whimpered as he used her.

“I’m close,” he said. She felt so hot and wet. His cock was getting squeezed. It was an unnecessary warning—Paige started to shiver. Her eyes shot open, and then she started to moan. Claire would no doubt hear everything. The thought of their vulnerable new roommate stuck with Luke. He shot into Paige.

“Oh my god, how much did you fire into me?” Paige said, looking down. “Does fear make you cum harder?”

“Apparently,” Luke said. Paige rolled off and laid down, spent. She crossed her legs. “Do you think Claire heard?”

“I think our neighbors back in the city heard,” Luke said. He rubbed her belly. Then he sat upright. “Why does it smell like pancakes?”

Claire had made pancakes. She had also found the family’s old clothes. A girlish yellow and white striped shirt that was far too small, that showed off a ton of midriff and was strapped tight around her boobs. She’d also put on runner’s shorts that were pitch black. When Luke came out she was bent slightly over a hot stove. His dick had been drained entirely, which was why it surprised him when it gave a twitch.

“I was starving,” she explained, holding up a spatula.

“Claire, we definitely didn’t have any eggs,” Paige said. She was in loose khaki shorts and a flowing red shirt. It was childish and unfair to compare her to Claire, after she’d JUST fucked him senseless.

Nonetheless...

“Yeah!” Claire said, shrugging. “Yeah. Its flour and water and some baking soda that expired like four years ago. But there was a lot of sugar.”

She deposited a half-dozen on a plate and gave them to Luke. They were extremely flat. But they were warm and he was suddenly enormously, powerfully hungry. He picked one up and ate the entire hockey puck.

And froze. Contamination. Viral spread. How could he have been so stupid? And the pancakes tasted like floury sugar bombs.

“I got up at like, 5:30,” Claire said. “TV doesn’t work. No reception. Board games are just where we left them. Took a shower. Went for a short walk. Paige, I set up the chess board for us. Two hours ago.” The board was plastic and so were the pieces. It looked like she’d played a game against herself—there was just a King left, surrounded by opposing queens.

So she’d gone around touching all their stuff. Great. Claire had definitely inserted herself into the viral isolation pod. Luke picked up another three flatcakes. At least they were hot. And at least she didn’t look sick.

“I was REAL glad to hear you guys finally up,” she said, looking Paige right in the eyes. So that’s how it was going to be. Paige surprised him by shrugging it off and grabbing a stack of two-dimensional pancakes. There was no butter, and no oil either, so they’d been cooked on a flat stove.

“There IS maple syrup,” Claire said. She pointed over to a yellowed, faded bottle with a brown sludge inside. “It doesn’t have an expiration date.”

Luke marched over to it and turned it upside down. The crystals inside didn’t budge. Claire pursed her lips and cross her legs. Her hips pushed the shorts taut and her belly button poked out. Luke turned away so she couldn’t see his erection. It smelled very sweet around Claire.

They went back to the diner.

In part to get information—why would the TV be a fuzzy mess? Cell signal nonexistent? Radio worked, but there didn’t seem to be any operating news stations. All they could get was music, even on the AM stations.

“I’m positive this is the news station,” Paige said, handling the dial. They’d stuffed Claire in the backseat. She was tousling her hair and pursing her lips out the window. She’d dressed for a job interview, button-down shirt and someone else’s pants. The lake house was apparently where the Paige family clothes went to rest. The music over the radio was peppy, brainless pop.

“This must be it. KNOR 1411. Your news leader. Claire, remember my Dad tuning in as soon as we left the house, like we were about to hit massive traffic on this little dirt road?”

“Oh yeah,” Claire said. She kept her eyes out the window. Her knees fidgeted. Her legs opened and closed. Luke noticed.

Of course the diner was closed.

“There’s a little store nearby on main but… not the best place to go in a mass infection event,” Paige said. She rapped on the window. “Fuck. I wonder if we can just get some ketchup. It’d make the flatcakes taste better. Not that they can be any worse.”

Claire had stayed in the car. It was their first moment to talk. “What happens when she starts running a fever?” Luke hissed.

“We shoot her,” Paige deadpanned. “With a gun.”

“No, for real.”

“I don’t know. We’ll toss her in the guest room, it has its own bathroom. Unless you really want to kick her out. Are you just starting another fight so we’ll have more makeup sex?”

“Yes!”

Paige considered that.

“It was pretty great,” she conceded.

“Oh, it’s you two,” it was the waitress. She’d cracked the door open. This time she was in jeans and a t-shirt. “We’re damn closed.”

Luke turned before she could close the door, angled his foot inside. “Can we get a grocery package?” he said, fast, timing the slamming door. “We’ve got cash. You can just leave it outside. I’m guessing you’ve got stuff that’s gonna go bad, you know?”

“Are we doing that kind of crap already?” the waitress groused. Luke sensed victory. He took out his wallet and waved crisp twenty dollar bills. “I’ll leave them under a rock, and you can lysol them. Plus we feel really great,” he said. That part wasn’t wrong. Paige visibly considering more makeup sex was a great vaccine.

They filled up the trunk, and Luke felt good about the situation for the first time since they’d left. Big slabs of industrial-sized bacon, a massive bag just marked ‘SUGAR’, potatoes loose and rolling around in the back of the trunk. Pasta in commercial packaging. Gallons upon gallons of milk. There was even cereal in there, and some of those tiny jam packets intended for a single slice of toast. Paige had helped fill the trunk. Claire hadn’t done squat, which made him feel more charitable towards his own fiancee. She’d hoisted in dozens of eggs, more than the intruder could say.

“We’re provisioned. I just have to shoot a buffalo for a little more meat. Actually, hey, are there fish in the lake?” Luke said, getting in the car.

“Nothing you’d eat,” Paige said. They’d left every bill they had under that rock. Even so it was a more than fair trade. “I guess you could catch a hundred minnows and fry them all together, but you’d mostly be eating eyeballs.”

Claire was still staring out the window. Luke glanced in the rear view. “Claire?” he prodded.

She gave them a brittle smile. “Heyyyyy, guys? I’m feeling a little….. Ahhhhhhhh….. Off.”

The good feelings burnt in a cinder. He took a closer look. Claire’s pert, heart-shaped face was flushed. Her eyes were very bright behind her glasses.

“NOT like BAD,” she amended. “No. Not bad at all. Not like achey or fatigue or anything like that but yeah I feel… really warm. Really really warm.”

“Symptoms?” Paige said. Her voice was cool and assessing, which surprised Luke. They’d never really been in a Situation before. Not even a flat tire.

Claire resumed looking out the window. Was she… blushing? “Warmth,” she reported. “Lots of warmth in the… thigh area.” Luke’s eyes wandered down to that region. Their new roommate was sitting on her hands. “Also the chest region. Of the body. Feeling quite hot.”

“Bad hot?” Paige said. They were already at the lake house. The diner was walkable, honestly.

“Noooooooooo,” Claire said. She shook her head. It was just a bit too emphatic, her eyes just a little far away. “Not bad. Uh. Ordinarily you’d call it kinda good. Kinda….” she looked forward and pursed her lips. “Fun.”

Luke and Paige did another exchange of couple-glances.

“Claire, are you… aroused?” Paige said. “Sexually?”

“I mean, YEAH,” Claire said, a bit too breathily. “Seriously, definitely yes. I didn’t want to bring it up because, I don’t know, maybe I was just… horned up. But I am PRETTY sure its not like, normal arousal.” She let out a long, hot breath. It practically steamed up the air. “Oh my god, it is not normal one little bit.”

“Lets get you inside,” Paige said. Luke drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He’d ate this woman’s pancakes. They were all in a cluster of exchanged fluids. Apparently this particular flu liked erogenous zones.

Claire giggled. They both turned to look at her. She had a silly grin on her face. It only slowly slid off. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just—who the heck heard of a disease that makes you want to fuck?”

Claire was the most intensely serious person that Paige knew.

She had grounded their friend group, the sensible one, the one that could make decisive judgments in the group chat about men or major life decisions or financial risks. She had always one to nurse the drink at the bar, to have a spare pad in her purse, to give a subtle shake of the head that meant: I have thought about this and don’t do it. They all trusted her. When Paige had broached moving in with Luke it had been Claire’s ‘ok’ over the imessage flow that had clinched it.

And now she was taking very deep, very hot, very wet breaths in the guest room, and seemed creepily blissed out.

“Really, no kidding, what are your symptoms?” Paige said. This entire “I want to fuck” thing had to be a joke of some kind. Shortness of breath was a symptom. Horny was not a symptom.

“You keep asking that, I think it’s pretty clear what the symptom is. If it’s a symptom,” Claire pointed vaguely down to her thighs. They were not just damp but soaked. The air had that subtle scent of biology.

“Maybe that’s… the body… trying to cool off,” Paige tried. It was intensely lame. Claire giggled. That was disconcerting. Claire was not a giggler, and she shut down giggling in others.

“Sex flu,” Claire offered, between giggles. “Oh god. Why am I laughing?”

“Do you really, actually, want to have sex right now?” Paige probed. Maybe this was all some funny misunderstanding with the virus. It had gone after Claire’s lungs and accidentally hit her boobs. “Like, really REALLY really?”

Claire closed her eyes. The beads of sweat hadn’t gone away. “Yeah,” she reported. “Oh yeah. Really badly. It’s like… you know this morning when you were fucking the shit out of Luke?”

Paige didn’t want to hear about Luke from her horny and virus-crazed friend. “Sure,” she said, crossing her arms. She’d spent the interview backed up against the door. No doubt her fiance was right on the other side, listening intently while purportedly putting away groceries.

“You know that moment when you’re just about to get a penis inside of you? Like it’s a really tender guy and he is leaving nothing to chance. He is kissing your neck, sucked your tits, got his knee between your legs rubbing up against your panties, he’s telling you how he wants to fuck you so bad. You’re both naked and he’s got this enormous dick but he is slowly starting to push towards you? And you know that in about five seconds you’re going to have this cock all the way up you?”

They stared at each other. “Okay,” Paige said.

“It’s exactly like that.”

Was this going to be her in the near future? Paige hadn’t forgotten how eagerly she’d banged Luke that morning, in the middle of an epidemic, with her good friend listening just down the hall. Yes, she occasionally howled out orgasms, but she had felt THAT morning’s particular orgasm in the tips of her hair. She bit into a nail, concerned, and then cursed herself for doing so. Why was she letting her hands anywhere near her mouth? They had to be swarming with fuck germs.

It was also concerning that Claire had arranged herself to be easily bred. There were a lot of ways to lie in bed. Completely prone with her head on a pillow would’ve worked fine. Claire had arranged herself with her legs perched at the foot of the bed, her head halfway in the middle, and her pussy peeking over the edge of the covers. She was perfectly situated for a guy to come in, stand there, and start to fuck her. Paige saw her hips moving, apparently to get that tiny bit of friction just from scraping her ass against the musty bedspread, which had faded, soil-brown bears embroidered on it.

Paige went and washed her hands. Was she herself starting to sweat? She checked the mirror: clear, blemish free. Was Claire sexier then she was? It was hard to compare herself with a girl writhing in need, blowing and gasping to be fucked. Claire definitely had bigger tits then Paige had known about—they had always been securely fastened in a sensible bra. And the tight shorts revealed a healthy ass.

Maybe she had to fuck Luke again, just to make sure he was safely drained.

“Paige?” Claire called out.

“Yeah?” she’d been washing her hands, thinking about Luke, for a long time. About propping her legs up on the side of the bed. It was the perfect height for long, savage strokes.

“Do you think it’d be bad if I, you know?”

“You know what?”

“Mmmmmmmasturbated,” Claire said. It was a very complex way to say the word, with a hint of fear but also a near purr. “Like do you think it’ll just make things worse?”

It wasn’t totally clear why Claire asked, as she already was. Her friend had stuck an entire hand down the front of her soaked shorts. At least Paige could attribute her own flushed cheeks to embarrassment. Here she was, back to the door, watching her good friend jill herself off. Claire’s eyes slammed shut. She was clearly already feeling it.

“I hope not,” Paige said.

“Oh my god I’m already close,” Claire said. “Its… different. Its different. Different,” she seemed stuck on the word. It was surprising she could even get it out, slurring it, with the vowels and consonants all jumbled together. Her tongue didn’t seem to be working. Her nipples, even with her on her back, stuck right out of her shirt. Paige watched her fingers dance. Claire bucked her hips against them.

“Ungh, ungh,” her eyes opened. Then she came. Even for Paige, no stranger to orgasms, it was unnervingly intense. There were sounds mixed in there that could’ve been sobs, and Claire herself was wide-eyed, her body shaking into the sheets.

Luke opened the door.

“Oh,” he said.

Claire was just starting to calm down, breathing once again. The only good news about the situation, from Paige’s perspective, was that she had never managed to get her own clothes off. So while the room was thick with pussy juice and Claire’s face was bright red, she wasn’t actually displaying her clit to Paige’s fiance. And her boobs were mostly contained, although one hand had snaked up there to pinch her nipples. Luke lost a lot of points by standing there, dumbfounded, his eyes right between Paige’s thighs.

“Oh shit it’s a boy,” Claire managed. To Paige’s horror, she smiled, eyes shining. “Hi Luke.”

That broke the spell. Paige pushed him out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

“YES she was masturbating and YES you don’t need to stand there watching her rub herself,” she snapped.

Luke was on the defensive. It didn’t help his case at all that he definitely had an erection. Paige glared at it.

“I heard screaming, I came in. Is she okay? What the hell is going on?” The sex fug was clearing. Claire was still moaning in the other room, although a slower, more controlled set of moans, like she was gently getting her tits fondled.

“Some sort of… weird flu. It… excites… the libido. I guess,” Paige said. “Acts on the… erogenous zones.”

“What?” Luke said. He rubbed at his face. “She got so horny she had to fuck herself? With you in the room? Jesus christ. And what was that smell? It was…” his eyes got far away. “It was really something.”

“You didn’t need to watch her finger herself,” Paige said. She forced herself to uncross her arms. Was she angry at him or at Claire? She needed to figure that out quick, because it was about to become a talking point.

“She sounded like you were whipping her, in a good way,” Luke said. “Are you MAD at me? Why were you just watching? You were like a yard away. She had fluids flying everywhere. Is that going to be YOU?”

It was a good, good, good question. “You better not just stand there if I’m the one doing that,” Paige warned.

Luke took a moment to try and parse that. “What?” he said.

She emerged at eight, and a great gust of sex-wind came with her.

They’d kept the living room free of it, that sugar cane and honey scent that was suddenly Claire’s signature. After one last shattering orgasm, shaking the attic beams with disconcerting screams, Claire had fallen deep asleep, her hands still soaked and caught in her waistband. She’d slept with her legs splayed open, and Paige had watched her arch her back and murmur pleased things in her dreams. She’d bumped her hips back and forth. It was pretty clear she was getting satisfyingly dicked down in her slumber.

Luke had made dinner, and they’d dared to think: this was it. Claire would wake up flu-free and they’d have an uncomfortable laugh at the naughty virus she’d caught. Paige hadn’t felt all that different, although she kept catching her eyes wandering down to Luke’s dick. It was suddenly important in a new way.

And then Claire emerged. Her shorts were askew, showing off half her thighs, and just barely covering her pussy. Her shirt was wet with sleep sweat and boldly outlined every inch of her tits. They looked at her. There was no question she was still deep into it—Claire licked her lips as they stared, and she had deep, half-hooded eyes.

“Paige?” she said, in a voice that hinted at iron self-control. “Can we talk for a sec? Maybe outside where it’s cooler?” Claire nonetheless kept her eyes tight on Luke, who was frozen over the kitchen island, reading an old Tom Clancy book they’d found in the game nook. Claire radiated heat even in the lazy summer soup.

It was barely cooler outside, especially with Claire nearby. She seemed to absorb every wisp of wind. There were real stars out that far in the country, and they were just starting to show, outlining the lake in twinkles. Not a single person was out. The lake was a mirror.

“Lets sit down,” Claire said. She very primly sat down and very carefully crossed her legs. Paige was close enough to smell her—it was still sweat and sweet juice. She looked burned up from the inside. Paige wondered if her intent was to spring up, lock Paige out behind the heavy sliding door, and fuck her near-husband senseless. “Paige, I’m in your wedding party, right?”

“Yes?” Paige said. It was a relief in a way to see the self-possessed Claire, the old one, even in this heat-wracked girl.

“And it’s gonna be a big wedding, right? Bridesmaid dress, gotta buy that, plus we’re planning a huge bachelorette for you. Three days in wine country. I put the deposit down last week. What I’m getting at is, I think I need a favor.”

“You’re not gonna fuck Luke,” Paige said. They stared into each other’s eyes.

Claire forced a laugh. “I was NOT going to ask to fuck your… sexy… rugged… fiance,” she shook her head, to try and clear it. “But I DO need some of his sperm.

Reality took another sharp dip. “Sperm,” Paige said. “You need Luke’s cum.”

“To drink. Like really soon,” Claire added.

Paige never doubted her sincerity. Claire looked like a girl who really needed something very badly. Evidently, that thing was cum. “Its a medical emergency,” Claire added.

“Lets get you to the doctor, then,” Paige said. She stood up just to pace around. The deck was still warm from the day. The weather was altogether too nice for this kind of pandemic. It should’ve been storming, the waves lapping the shore. “There’s probably a hospital somewhere.” And what would it look like, if Claire was the archetypal patient? A whole ward of moaning girls, rubbing each other with the stethoscopes?

“I don’t think they have cum IVs. Paige, PLEASE. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need, NEED it,” Claire said. She reached out to take Paige’s hand. Paige reluctantly held it. She was damp and hot. “Think of it as me asking for a glass of water,” Claire said. “Or ketchup. Because you squeeze it. In a cup is fine. ANYTHING is fine. I have tried, very very hard, not to ask for this, for hours.”

“Uh huh, sure,” Paige wiped her own sweaty forehead. What was it going to feel like, when she had it? “Does all of this… hurt?”

“Oh, no,” Claire said, her eyes suddenly glassy again. “It feels so good, Paige. You wouldn’t even believe it. It feels so fucking amazing.” She ran her fingers across her lips and pulled them open.. “Too good.”

“What if we just mixed salt water and toothpaste together and see if that did the trick?” Paige tried, but Claire didn’t bother responding. Paige stood up, and went inside, to milk her husband’s dick.

“Huh,” Luke said. “And you agreed to this.”

“If she says she needs it, she needs it,” Paige said. They’d left Claire out on the porch, and she appeared to be touching herself again. “I don’t doubt her. It’s all crazy but… it’s all sex related. I don’t know. I’ve heard that… sperm… release hormones in female bloodstreams. Or maybe it’s just her glands going crazy. I don’t know. If someone says they’re thirsty, I hand them a cup of water.”

“I’ve never been the water before,” Luke said. They were in the master bedroom, the only place left that was reasonably secure. Paige had washed her hands after holding Claire’s. It felt totally pointless. “Are you really okay with me doing this?” he said.

“I mean it’s not like you’re putting your dick in her mouth,” Paige said. It was the wrong thing to say. She let out a long, hot breath. There was no air conditioning in the cabin. “Lets just do this. Pants down.”

“I can just jack off in the bathroom,” Luke said. “It won’t take me very long. I spent, what, fifteen years practicing this?”

It was a reasonable suggestion, and yet… Paige rejected it. It felt wrong, clinical, awful. Her husband, almost, shouldn’t have to beat off under a bathroom light. If she wanted his cum it stood to reason she should milk it, lovingly stroke it, catch every silken drop in a glass. “If Claire wants your seed it has to come through me,” Paige said. “I’m the middleman. Middlegirl. Lets get you freshly squeezed.”

She didn’t comment on Luke’s already erect, dribbling dick. He had a stream of precum at the tip. There’d been far too much talk of masturbation, and too many hot moans, to complain about it, especially since she was about to jerk him off. Paige put her hand all the way around his cock, protective. This was HER penis. Which meant she needed to do an extra good job giving him a handjob.

And since it was a handjob, that meant talking him off. Stood to reason. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

“I liked fucking you this morning,” Paige said, in her best kitten voice. “It’s nice to just climb aboard and ride.”

She ignored her own growing heat. It was natural enough, easily explainable. She was jacking off her husband’s nice big dick. Her body was reacting in a normal way, producing wetness, making her body warm and hot.

“Any…” Luke rocked in her hands. He was very warm, even on this warm night. “Time. Babe.”

“Maybe tomorrow? Maybe we’ll wake up and you’ll fuck my pussy?” Paige sped up her strokes. “Maybe I’ll wake up all juicy for dick and—oh geez, oh fuck Luke warn me.” He was spurting in great white arcs. The first one shot across her face, narrowly missing her eyes. Luke, gasping, directed the second into the glass. There were many more. It was an impressive amount of jism. She pumped and pumped him. Her arm should’ve been tired. Her pussy clenched.

“You can stop,” Luke said, falling back on the bed. “Geez.” Her hands were cobwebbed with the stuff. It smelled like distant bleach. Paige felt flushed, hot. She rose, mechanically. Claire was out back, idly jilling herself while she watched the stars. She didn’t bother to take her hand out of her shorts at all.

“Eh? Oh, oh!” Claire’s hand clasped around the glass, and she raised it to her lips without any hesitation. She even stuck her pink tongue out to get at it a little faster. Paige watched as her fiance’s cum slowly jelled into her mouth. Claire dropped the glass once it was empty. It shattered on the porch.

“Oh my god,” she said, in a tiny girl voice, sinking deeper into the patio furniture. Paige wasn’t sure what she had expected—maybe some sort of thunderous orgasm. This was more like slipping into a deep, restful slumber.

“Claire? You okay?” she said.

“It’s so good,” Claire managed, at a near whisper. Her body shivered once, and then she stopped talking entirely. Her chest rose and fell in long strokes. Paige watched her for a few long minutes. Then she went inside, came back out with a dustpan, and cleaned up the glass.

It was only later, in the bathroom, that Paige realized she’d had a trail of jizz on her face the whole rest of the night. It was all across her chin, partially dried. She cautiously licked at it, watching her own reflection’s reaction. It didn’t taste all that good.

But it didn’t taste bad, either.

“It was a dream,” Claire said, the moment she woke up, her eyes fixed on the underside of a rough-hewn ceiling. She relaxed into the sheets, their musty, turgid, but warm embrace. A dream, it had been a weird fuck fantasy. The fact she was in bed proved it—her dream had ended with her falling asleep out back, after really enjoying a cum milkshake. And now she was tucked into the covers.

As dreams went it was bold and transgressive. She’d wrecked her relationship with one of her best friends, had made a complete ass of herself, and hadn’t even gotten to have sex. It was all unsatisfying masturbation and begging for sperm. Some sort of latent sub interest? Claire was well aware of her hard-ass reputation among friends and co-workers. It was an office joke—if you need criticism, blunt and unsparing, without a smile, Claire was the perfect person for it.

Not a very funny office joke, now that she thought about it.

It was disconcerting that she was still dressed in the same teen cast-off outfit as in slumberland, the way too-tight t-shirt and the abused, ragged panties she’d stretched to hell. Some sort of dream resonance. The t-shirt was even tighter then she’d remembered, and her tits had snuck out of the bottom of it, firm and well-rounded underboob. Even unrolling and pulling the fabric down it wouldn’t lie flat, just barely making it over her tits.

Claire stared at her reflection, waiting for the sleep-fog to lift, and her ordered, calm mind to remind her what the real reason was she was at the Lake House. Probably some sort of wedding planning thing, a restful and calm weekend of mimosas and dipping into the lake. Girl time. Luke probably wasn’t even there. She cupped her boobs, admiring them. Something about them seemed unusual. Did her mere touch always send happy sparkles through her head?

Claire pulled her hands free fast.

Why had that felt so fucking amazing? And why was her head still writhing with images of her stroking herself, instead of giving up the location of her suitcase full of sensible sweaters and blouses?

She heard a sound like a mouse jumping on a bed. Claire turned, startled. She pursed her lips, ran her tongue over it. Unnoticed, so far, her ass wiggled behind her, panties straining to hold it in. She itched at it, but the sound was too intriguing to ignore. It sounded like a steam pipe leaking.

Claire paddled across the living room. The sound was in the master bedroom, and now it was definitely moans. But that couldn’t be right—Paige’s voice wasn’t that breathy, that high-pitched. She’d heard her friend fuck just yesterday. It had been a hot listen, too. Paige was ultimately a little shy on personality, outside of the most generic interests, and listening to her cum had been a new and interesting side of her.

She was definitely getting fucked once again. Just on the other side of the door. It wasn’t even closed, just cracked. Claire stood in front of it, blankly, listening to the noise of a good friend getting dicked down. Whatever was going on in there, it would probably end with a broken bed.

Eventually her brain started to work again, putting the sound of wet, hot, fucking to the side. This pretty much had to mean it had all been real. The masturbation, the intense need to drink Luke’s jism. It definitely explained why her thighs were suddenly starting to leak. Claire jammed her hands back down her panties and felt around. She was definitely very moist.

“Oh fuck,” she mouthed, eyes wide. It was all real. Some sort of viral intruder was inside of her, poking at her libido, making her do things like stand there and listen intently with wet thighs while her friend was noisily fucked.

Last night’s intense need flooded back into her: she’d come down from one of many orgasms to realize she desperately needed jism in her mouth. It waa a sudden and intense thirst, like she had hiked a trail in a blaring sun. She had needed to fight her own body not to sink onto her knees in front of Luke, ignore his fiancee’s indignant look, and suck the nectar right out of him.

It was still in her mouth, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like she had brushed her teeth before bed. She still had Luke cum on her tongue, sort of.

And that sounded… great. It wasn’t as all-encompassing a need as last night, but some sperm, in her mouth, sounded really nice. Claire made a noise deep, deep in her throat. What WAS this virus? Bad enough she was auto-stimulating like some mouse with a cocaine lever, but she needed to bathe in cum to boot? Her body was pretty sure it would feel just as satisfying shot deep within her, like god intended, and even lathered onto her tits would do in a pinch.

It just had to be cum. Dumb, dangerous, saline cum.

Her foot inched the door open, while Claire was sorting through many new feelings.

Inside, Paige was getting the best fuck of her life.

They hadn’t managed to get all the way naked. Paige’s sleep pants were still half on, just shoved down, and they hung baggy and loose around her knees. She wore her oversized sleep shirt, which just left her ass bare. Luke had bent her over the bed to fuck her, his own pajamas still mostly on, his cock out. Claire had a bad angle to see his penis. They were in half-view, but she could see Paige thrusting her ass back to the tune of Luke’s strokes. They were both going for deep, satisfying sex, each revolution ending with Luke absolutely buried up to the hilt deep in her snatch. Paige had done everything she could to make the angle easier, practically on tippy-toes in front of the bed. They were both drenched with sweat. Luke had both hands on his partner’s butt, just to steady himself. It smelled incredible in there.

Claire had to fight her legs. They were eager to walk in, kneel, and put her tongue out. Any bits and pieces of sex that got in her mouth would be fine. The couple had stopped actively fucking each other and were just locked together, humping. Luke was growling in a low baritone that was making Claire’s pussy absolutely gush. Trying to walk away made her fall backwards onto her ass.

“Get up,” Claire told herself. She was ill. This was viral. It was not normal to lose total control of your thighs because a half-married couple were boldly fucking each other a yard or two away.

It helped that she was, in fact, incredibly hungry, for actual food. And she had amends to make up for regarding yesterday’s not-pancakes, feeding everyone expired wheat. Luke would appreciate it if he came out of a tiring session of banging Paige senseless to a nice breakfast of bacon and eggs. Provided by the other available pussy.

“Stop it,” Claire thought, listening to the guttural sounds from one room away. It was clear that the twosome had been trying to be quiet before, since they were now moaning and growling nonstop, two mammals breeding each other. Claire finally let her finger inch in—on top of her underwear—while she gathered ingredients and pots and pans. If she timed it just right she could pretend it was Luke thrusting into her. And why not? Her body needed medicine, right? Maybe there was some antibody in his balls, and her body craved it.

Making breakfast while hungry and stupid with lust was a challenge. Claire cracked the eggs into the carton, threw away a stick of butter and set the wrapper to sizzle, and spilled orange juice with her shaky hands. It was no use trying to pry her fingerfuck hand away from between her legs. It didn’t want to go. The assembled plates were messy conglomerations of protein and carbohydrates, but they were done, at least. Setting off the smoke alarm twice hadn’t stopped Luke and Paige at all.

Claire risked another look inside. Her good friend was kneeling, in front of Luke, her mouth open wide, as he jacked right onto her tongue. “Here it comes,” he growled. Paige somehow opened even wider. Her tits looked so cushiony and soft.

It was too much for Claire. She felt something give, deep within her slit, and the next stroke from her cramping finger sent her over.

When she came to, on the floor, it was to Luke looking down at her with contempt.

“Hope you’re happy,” he said. He’d put on a pair of flimsy boxer shorts and nothing else. The boxers had big wet stains that Claire wanted to suck on. “Paige and I have it now.”

“Sorry!” Claire chirped, automatically. A man had reprimanded her, and she felt an instant need to soothe and deflect. Add that to the growing list of what had the virus done to her. Luke stood next to the tap and methodically drank glass after glass of water. Claire took a look into the bedroom. Paige was fast asleep, deposited onto the bed. It was worth checking—but no, she hadn’t missed a drop. The floor was clean.

When she looked back, Luke was already halfway done with his plate. He ate methodically. “How much did you watch?” he said.

“Uhhhhhhh… some?” why was she so tongue-tied? Words felt sluggish and slow. “Just the sex part.”

“We’ve been at it since—actually I have no idea.” Luke was already done with breakfast. He’d put an entire plate down in twenty seconds. “I’ve never been that horny. Never. You know I could smell Paige’s pussy? Earthy. Kinda… lemon. It was like crack for my dick. I was iron.” She watched his nose twitch, and wondered if he could smell her.

“You did wash your hands before you made eggs, right?” he said.

“Of course!” Claire lied.

She stood next to the sink and fidgeted with her hands. It was probably going to irritate Luke to watch him eat, but it was hard to think of doing anything else. He was still sweating, droplets pattering the 70s-era floral tile. Why couldn’t she move away, and do anything else? Even go to her own bedroom and, perhaps, find new underpants? These were going to have to be thrown away. They had seen too much.

Luke finished his plate and dragged hers over. He resumed eating. Claire opened her mouth, then didn’t say anything. She could cook more. The important thing was, he get lots of essential nutrients. She’d get them back eventually. Claire started up the burner again.

“It’s not just,” he thrusted with his fork a few times, a gesture that Claire really approved of. “The libido stuff. I’m a guy. I know what it feels like to really want to get your penis in something. I was 15. It’s like there’s this tunnel vision and all I can see and think of and smell is pussy. It’s crazy. Everyone in the world must be rutting right now. It’s a good thing Paige is on the pill. You’re on birth control, right?”

It was an intense question, and they both knew it. It opened the door to a lot more questions. “No,” Claire said. She was definitely not. The pill didn’t agree with her. She wasn’t in a relationship. Her pussy spasmed at the realization: she was in extreme, incredible danger of getting a baby put in her by someone else’s practically-husband. She turned away just to cope. Breeding. Luke hadn’t fucked Paige. He’d bred her.

What if he bred her?

He eyed her, thoughtful, before returning to her plate. If Luke came inside of her, grunting one of those wonderful grunts, spurting seed as his balls contracted, she’d absolutely no question get pregnant. It stood to reason the virus was messing around with breeding. It’d be easy to spread as person clung to person, fluids everywhere, mixing together into a sex-scented puddle on the floor.

“Claire, stare elsewhere,” Luke interrupted her. He pointed to the third plate. “You can have that. Paige is absolutely knocked out. I fucked her into a near-coma.” Did he say the last with a hint of male pride? Claire dove in anyway. They were both so hungry, needy. It was undignified, worse than all the sex, which itself was disturbingly mammal. Claire needed to eat so badly. When they were done they both leaned back, bodies briefly mollified. She was still hungry.

Luke’s dick was already bulging in his boxers. “Look at that,” he said, no longer shy about it. “God damn it, Claire. It should feel like it was threshed. I spent hours laying pipe in Paige, and I’m just…” he clenched both fists, slowly released them, then went and sat on the couch.

Your fiancee is asleep, Claire wanted to say. She tried to keep her eyes away from him. Maybe she could do dishes, and let Luke gently bend her over, relieve that aching burden inside her pussy. Maybe knock her up just a little.

He was staring at her. “Why do you keep twirling your hair?” he finally said, even while she flushed, her thighs spreading apart.

Something about the confusion, the uneasiness, got through to her. She’d never put her hands through her hair, teasing it like a cheerleader with a bad crush. Or cooked for a man without a thank you, or, for that matter, sitting around docile and half-mute while he was rude.

‘I’m… it’s…” Claire stammered. They stared at each other, mutually unsure of the situation. What the hell was even happening?

“Are your fucking TITS bigger?” Luke said. He raised a hand and steadied his dick, and Claire took that moment to flee to the guest bedroom. Later, when she got up the nerve to check, they were definitely getting pretty big.

His phone rattled and pinged and cried out. Luke had left it plugged in and turned all notifications to full blast, just in case. He had put it strategically by a window.

It was a very welcome interruption. There was absolutely no chance he was going to read a book in the middle of some weird sex epidemic. He’d turned the TV back on. There was something going on behind the constant snow, he was sure of it. It drew him in, some human-like figure, that struck some ancient recognition signal, deep in his head. But ultimately it was an ululating feed of trash with a static whisper.

The truth was, what he really wanted to do was tug on his dick.

Luke had had a standard male puberty, which meant he had definitely dealt with a nagging sense that he needed to cum. This was more of a firm, unyielding pressure, starting at the base of his balls and feeding upwards into the inside of his head. When Paige had woken him up, whining and needy, he had flipped her over immediately and slid right in. No questions asked, no thoughts present. Then he’d simply rammed his cock into her in a way that would’ve earned a scolding two days ago. It wasn’t even porno sex. He’d just needed as much friction as possible.

Still needed it. Craved it. Claire’s speculative, dumb stare had made him surge and boil. Paige was out of it. After dumping more cum in her than he’d thought possible she had basically collapsed. Say the word and Paige’s horny friend would get on her knees and suck. They both knew it. He could smell her.

That was maybe the most disturbing part of this, the scent thing. He could still smell her animal dripping, and it was sharply distinct from Paige. Paige was a floral, herbal. Anise and citrus. And… something off, a harsh note in the bouquet. Not bad, precisely, just… off. Claire was a cherry sugar, and there was nothing at all wrong with it. Each whiff made him harder.

He was debating masturbating into a glass and giving it to her—the ethics, the morals—when the phones set off.

By the time he got to the phone the fleeting signal had passed by. It had dumped a load of text messages in and moved on. The vast bulk were test messages from friends and family regarding the total lack of service. So it wasn’t just being out in the boonies. And then the virus had taken hold. The Guy Chat was a cacophony of “holy shit guys” and “god damn” and then a reading off of inches that was intriguing: 4, 5, 3, 6.

There was something off with the phone, a sort of fuzz to the screen. He moved his thumb over it, trying to pinpoint the oddity. A sort of resolution issue—he could just about spot it….

There was a set of messages from Mom that he deleted unread.

And then girls. Ex-girlfriends, coworkers, female friends. One was from Amanda, coworker, valued team member. She had sensible shoulder-length hair and wore light sweaters nearly year round. She’d previously sent an e-mail to the entire team denouncing the dress code change allowing tights at work. “We need to hold the khakis line!” she’d urged. She’d sent him a picture of a pussy. Presumably her own. It was newly shaven, and Luke’s dick told him he liked nice, bare slits. They made it easier to see the cum leaking out. He’d have to have a word with Paige about that.

Luke almost deleted Amanda’s pussy pic. He paused. There was no sense lying to himself. All the testosterone coursing through him was absolutely right. What was Paige gonna do if she found this, get mad at him? Good luck with that; dick was paramount and he controlled the supply. He texted back. “Why did you send this to me?”

His body told him that was the right response. The words on the screen whorled, momentarily indistinct.

She responded immediately, must’ve been waiting for it. “You’re a man.”

He stared at it, hot blood flooding through him. He was a man. She’d called it. He had a man response, also, to the four new pussy pics Amanda sent him, one after another, the camera getting closer and closer to her snatch. He stood there, cock pulsing. He was a man, true.

The signal went dead, exhausted from delivering snatch.

He looked at Claire’s shut bedroom door, speculative, when Paige emerged from the bedroom. She looked worn out. He traced the lines of her tits—they were prominent, real prominent, like she had stored all his cum in them. Her jeans looked tight on her.

“Oh no, it wasn’t a dream,” she said, staring at his body. “Oh, FUCK.”

“I told you to lock Claire out,” Luke said. But it wasn’t an important argument anymore. There were new concerns.

They stared directly into each other’s eyes. The relationship had changed over the past few hours. They’d used each other’s bodies too fully and intensely. Luke looked at his fiancee and thought: I made you cum so hard you brayed like an animal. I fucked you so deep you passed out. I filled you up with so much sperm it ran down your thighs, and I’m probably going to do it again soon. Add to that the fact he could smell her, sniff and know where she was, and the relationship was definitely undergoing changes.

“Oh, thank god, food,” Paige fell onto it. Claire had thoughtfully made a new plate before disappearing. Luke thoughtfully looked at his fiancee’s ass while she scarfed down thousands of calories, eating with both hands, barely using a fork. His dick wanted to breathe.

“Stop this,” he told himself, fiercely. He was acting petulant, horny, aggressive. They were ill. It was fucked up to consider bending Paige over, in the middle of breakfast, just so he could fuck her again. They were two adults who were in love, not rutting animals.

The TV snapped over into something new.

Still static, but purposeful, and color-filled. Cascading sprays of pink and purple across the snow. And not just a randomized slurry but a sense of a sworl. But even more interesting was the music. A chippy, pop-inflected beat, like the background to a pop song that was felt if not heard. It was charming and aimless. Luke checked the other channels—all the same, and all at the exact same rhythm.

Paige dropped her fork. “I’ve never eaten that much in my entire life. Oooof. Its been a big morning for all my body holes.”

Luke snorted. “Almost all.”

“Oh god, don’t joke. What is happening to us? Did you see all the text messages? A bunch came through.”

“Uh huh.”

Paige looked out the window. “I guess nowhere was safe.”

Luke shrugged. Suddenly, having Claire around wasn’t so intolerable. Maybe even… agreeable. He took another look at Paige.

“Is your… hair… different?” he said.

Claire re-emerged just then, passably normalized. She had combed out her hair, had re-dressed in her clothes from arrival, as sweat-damp and itchy as they seemed to be. Luke stared at her. She was clearly trying to communicate normalcy, being a very normal person and not a horny girl. But it wasn’t working at all—she walked with careful slowness, keeping her legs apart, her face schooled into a mask of calm. Claire had put her hands at her side. She smelled like soap, by and large. Luke sniffed. And that same wet tinge, hot and sweet.

The truth was, he liked it better than Paige. Paige smelled like a musty Hallmark store. Claire smelled like candy. He tried to will down his erection.

“House meeting?” Claire suggested, a little too spritely. She sat cross-legged on the rug. The music played quietly around them. Paige ambled over to the same rug and nearly fell into it. She still looked fuzzy, out of it. She kept tousling her hair. It was all curly. Maybe all that pounding, Luke had to think.

“I thought we’d come up with some rules while we get over our illness,” Claire said. She had a pencil and paper with her, some Lisa Frank pad she’d probably found deep in a drawer. “Civilizational rules, you know?”

“I’ll do it,” Luke said, surprising himself. But there was something faintly ridiculous to him about an infected person, wet between the legs, trying to come up with rules. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the girls were spread out beneath him, while he had his legs spread wide open. It felt good. Claire hesitated and then gave up the pen and paper.

“Claire, you’re house cook. Paige, you’re on dishes. Laundry… Claire. Paige… sweeping. Alright?”

“What about you?” Paige said.

“Security,” Luke said, promptly. It was spur of the moment, but it did appeal to him. He had two women in his care and protection. Who knew how the virus was affecting everyone? “Also information technology and outdoor chores. I’ll check the shed for a hammer. Good? Good. Now. Lets talk about you know what. Protein needs.”

The girls got very quiet and still.

“Claire, I know you have needs,” Luke said. He watched Paige tense upt. “Obviously I’m taken. Can you handle yourself? Be as loud as you need to be. If you need to touch yourself around us, that’s fine. Fair? I want to be as cool about this as we can.”

Claire gave a stiff thumbs up? “I don’t know if I have a choice… to be honest… but thanks. But I am really going to try not to be a burden.”

“If you need any male protein…” Luke scribbled aimlessly on the pad, drawing a very big and very erect penis. “...and it seems like you do… Paige will blow me for it, and then spit it into a glass for you. Fair?”

The two women looked at each other. Paige hated blowjobs, always had. It was surprisingly fun to watch the gears turn in her head. He’d informed Claire his body was off limits, which Paige liked. And told her she was going to blow him in no uncertain terms, in front of her best friend. Paige pursed her lips. It was taking her a pretty long time to think, to be honest.

“Great, fair,” his fiancee said. She nodded her head. “Makes sense to me.”

“Claire, are you craving right now?” he tossed the pad behind him and mildly spread his legs. It was too far. Both girls blanched at it. He covered with a cough and an awkward laugh, snapped his thighs shut once more. “Just… checking.”

For a moment the pre-virus Claire asserted herself. “I was going to see if lake water hit the same spot. It’s basically salt and water. And probably fish cum in it. Paige? Care to join me?” But her eyes darted to his dick, immediately anxious she’d gone too far.

Paige jumped on the idea. “Oh. Oh, sure! Yeah, lets go swimming! Great!”

She had a blowjob scheduled for her near future, and Paige found herself… looking forward to it.

They’d allowed themselves to pretend that everything was normal. Lake water was perfect for it. Immersed in cool, calm water Paige could just about close her eyes and think: the virus is passing through me. My white blood cells are waging an assault on Fort Libido. I will emerge with a normal temperature. It was easy to not feel disturbingly wet when she was just straight out water-logged.

Of course it was all a big fat lie, starting with how both of them kept turning towards the male snoozing on the porch deck. Luke had stripped to shorts, slathered on sunscreen, and apparently fallen asleep. Nonetheless his cock was practically visible from the shoreline, big between his legs.

She’d definitely felt a jolt of nervous panic at Luke’s breezy pronouncement that she was on blowie duty. Classic man behavior, finagling an epidemic into more hummers. And yet her body had taken register of the idea and responded: sure. Great. There was something very appealing, now, about getting a dick into her mouth. Not just the part at the end, although she was very much looking forward to that. His cock sliding in and out, his hands on her hair, his scent claiming her. She’d spent a lot of time in the water considering it.

Frankly it sounded really good.

“Are your tits bigger?” Claire said. They’d both found swimsuits from past occupants of the Lake House, probably belonging to Moms or Aunts. They had unnecessary frills and high waists, and looked awful. Plus her boobs didn’t fit at all. “Mine are way bigger.”

“Yeah,” Paige admitted. Not just swollen but oh so tender. “They still feel warm, even in the water, you know? Like you can feel all the activity going on in them. Their little boob engines are revved up.”

She glanced at Claire. She’d left her glasses on even in the water. Paige couldn’t recall seeing Claire’s actual body before. She was always behind buttons and hoodies and zippers. It had been a shock, not a very pleasant one, to see a very female body emerge from underneath. She’d always suspected Claire had big boobs. But not this big.

Her own chest was just as heavy. With everything else going on it was low on the list of concerns—but, they were bigger. Thicker and rounder at the same time.

“Boob engines, huh,” Claire said. “I’m thinking of taking my top off. They are digging in to the straps. God. Do you think they’ll go back to normal, afterwards?”

“Maybe?”

“They feel permanent. Like, I think if it was just water, I could tell. These feel like TITS. And my nipples are bigger. That’s not bloating. That’s bigger nipples.”

“So take off the top,” Paige said. She didn’t want to be the first. The truth was, her own boobs were digging in as well. But no one wanted to be the first to go topless in public. And besides, Luke wasn’t around to admire.

“Alright. At least I’m floating better. Here goes,” Claire loosed it. The cups floated free in the murky water. The upper slopes of her tits bobbled, her nipples just visible underneath the surface. They both giggled. Paige freed her own bust. It was enormously freeing. Her body liked it. It was getting hard to say no to her body.

“Maybe we’re just like, doing puberty stuff again,” Paige said. They floated idly, back and forth, minnows checking them out, suspicious. “Like, whatever this is, our bodies are just thinking oh shit its puberty time again, lets get revved up. That’s no big deal, right?”

“I didn’t spend my teens aching to get a pint of spunk down my throat, I don’t know about you,” Claire said. She floated on her back, serene, her nipples pointing straight up. “You haven’t even felt it like I did. You got plugged all morning, got it into your body the right way. I’m going to be flossing with jizz until I can meet a boyfriend. I bet everyone is paired up by the time we get back to the City.”

“Aw, maybe they’ll sell jizz at the store. Or make a soda version! I’d drink that!” It was meant as a joke, but her body prickled at the idea. Jizz. She did like jizz. Was this what the need for cum felt like? Her eyes sought out Luke, concerned. Just the sight of him was reassuring. Her supply. SHe should make sure he stayed properly hydrated. “Do you think Luke is changing too?”

“He ordered you to suck his dick,” Claire said. “Does he always do that?”

Paige flushed. “I mean… yeah…. he did do that...” she trailed off. This is when she should’ve had a leisurely girlfriendy conversation about men being men. On the other hand, it was going to be difficult to conceal that she kinda did want his cock in her mouth. A lot.

They both were looking at him now. “Maybe you should wake him up,” Claire suggested.

“No. We’re modern, independent women,” Paige said. “And he’s taking a nice snooze. Lets just hang out in the water.”

They paddled, restless.

“My hair is different too,” Claire said. There was a catch in her voice. An edge.

“You feeling it?” Paige whispered.

“Yeah,” Claire said, eventually. She sank below the water and then back up.

She was feeling it. A pressure in her head, an itchiness in her throat. Her body was reminding her: go get some cum. Go get that taken care of. It loomed larger and larger in her head.

“Me too. Oh shit! Someone is coming!”

They half-submerged, scared at the very sight of a new person. It wasn’t all that reassuring to realize it was a woman, older, in dark sweats and with a pair of cloth masks in different pastel colors over her face. She had a hood up—all that was visible was eyes with a cracked, weatherbeaten section of forehead and face. She emerged from the woods to the west at a brisk trot, not quite a run.

“Oh, fuck!” she said, catching sight of them, and took several steps back. “You’re infected, aren’t you. God, yes you are. You are! Look at those tits!”

Both Claire and Paige looked down. Were they really so much bigger? The truth was, they looked great, shiny with lake water and soaking in the sun. But not enormous, right? “Sor-ry,” Claire said, annoyed. “Not our fault that swimsuits hurt.”

“You’ve probably been soaking in semen, too. Letting every urge take you, sucking on cocks with wild and free abandon. Disgusting.” Paige and Claire shared a look. Jogging interloper was sweating a bit too much for a mild walk through the shade.

“You okay, lady?” Paige said. “It’s not really THAT big of a deal. It’s just, you know, you’re horny. And there’s the cum thing. But we’re not swimming around, we’re not giving our boyfriend a tongue bath.” Shit, had she really said ‘our’ boyfriend? That couldn’t be a thing. Claire sank into the water thoughtfully.

“He probably has a baseball bat of a dick, now,” the jogger said, looking around fearfully, just in case a really big penis was about to attack her. “And that’s before the other changes. Why did you even have to come here? You can’t be too far gone, your hair looks normal. Normal...ish. Did he already breedy you?”

Paige was stuck on the woman’s calm assurance that Luke was about to get a much bigger dick. “What are you talking about?” she said, taking a step forwards. The minnows leapt to avoid her. Her boobs broke free of the surface of the water. The jogger took a big leap back.

“No! No, stay back!” she said, her voice suddenly softer, weaker. “It’s not going to get me. Enjoy sucking dicks and drinking jizz until your brains drizzle out of your nose, ladies.”

Luke was sitting up in the chair, confused and sleepy. The jogger audibly gasped at the sight of him, chest catching every ray of the sun. She took one, two steps, and then broke off, running too fast to be really jogging, off along the shoreline. The truth was, she had a really nice bubble-butt.

“We gotta fight this,” Claire said.

“We will,” Paige promised.

“Claire, you gotta say uno,” Luke growled. “It’s literally the name of the game. You get down to one card, you say uno.”

Claire was flustered on a number of different levels. First, and foremost, it was deeply embarrassing that she was getting wrecked at stupid uno. Four times now she’d gotten called out by Luke for forgetting to call uno, playing the wrong colors, and other simple errors in a game intended for ages six and up. She’d checked the age range on the box. It was small comfort that Paige was making the same basic flubs, including once putting her cards facing backwards.

It was getting really worrying. The “brains out of noses” comment had jolted Claire into action. The truth was, she was feeling kinda… ditzy. In a way that wasn’t totally explainable by distraction.

So she’d tried to play chess with Paige. They’d played chess any number of times in the Lake House, growing up. Not out of any particular love of chess, but sometimes there was nothing else to do, and Claire, in particular, liked the game. She almost always beat Paige. She’d found the old set, ignoring her growing thirst, and sat down with it next to Paige.

Who had beaten her.

It was painful, watching the King fall over. Even worse, they were both giggling wrecks, umming and uhhing through the most basic stuff. Claire had exposed her queen like a complete dimwit, and then watched as Paige didn’t notice at all. Maybe it was just because Luke was nearby, reading a book, his legs uncrossed.

Maybe.

Then they’d played a completely disastrous game of Clue. Claire had absolutely aced her LSATs, and so it was extra dismaying to be absolutely at sea with marking off murder weapons and rooms. She was GOOD at Clue, she was sure of it. And yet she’d spent most of the game mad that Paige had gotten to be Miss Scarlet, easily the sexiest possible piece. She’d been assigned Mrs. White. The maid. That she was a blonde was small comfort. And for the life of her Claire couldn’t remember what a conservatory was. She should know that.

“Just draw four me,” she said, defeated. It was just as flustering to have Luke downright annoyed with them. He was playing shirtless, in khaki shorts, eyes narrowed at his own cards. He’d won seven times in a row, and was getting unhappy with the confused competition. “I suck. Maybe the virus saps the ability to play boring afternoon party games. I bet if we had Cards Against Humanity I’d find a way to die.”

It was rattling as well to realize she could smell Luke’s irritation.

All three of them were spending a lot of isolation game night getting used to scenting each other. Luke was a blaring red male musk, and there was no getting used to it. Like pine and spice, more exotic than she would’ve expected from what was ultimately a standard guy. Claire had tried breathing through her mouth, just to get a break from feeling Luke pulsing through her blood. It didn’t seem to make a difference. Every breath was another drink. And it was responsive—anger was like a spray of cinnamon heat. His arousal, on the other hand, was a constant note, like paint in a new house, and was a musky human animal.

It was worse to realize that Luke could certainly smell her. Claire had been working up the courage to ask about it. She didn’t doubt they were all spraying pheromones at each other in a haze. And it wasn’t like that was the only way for Luke to know she was, despite her best efforts, aching for his dick. Her nipples kept growing into the bikini top, which was starting to show a lot of underboob. That at least was some comfort: who would play cards at peak performance when they were sprouting tits? Claire had put on shorts over her bikini bottom, and was afraid to look down. Obviously she was leaking. It was all mortifying.

“Uno. And my last card is a wild. Another victory for men,” Luke said. He tossed his cards down.

Claire’s phone buzzed. They were getting more messages now, although the internet still timed out, tantalizingly close to actually bringing up webpages. She’d left it in her lap, not a coincidence.

“Huh,” she said. “Anyone want to see my sister’s pussy?”

“Why’d she send it to you?” Paige said.

“Looks like she sent it to everyone. I mean, I assume its hers.” A lot of people Claire didn’t know were giving thumbs up responses. It was a very close close up, possibly to show off that it was newly shaven down. Two fingers were up in it. Probably her sister’s fingers. She sighed, resigned to it.

“I want to see,” Luke said. He didn’t even bother looking at Paige for approval. His fiancee knit her eyebrows, unhappy. Claire passed it over. It really was a beautiful pussy, pink and inviting, peach-like. Luke studied it, and both girls checked to see if his dick twitched. No doubt his growing irritation had something to do with his obvious, iron erection. He’d been adjusting it all evening, and it looked uncomfortable, behind his shorts. “Huh. Shaven.”

The girls shared a brief look: there wouldn’t be a hair on their cunts past nightfall.

It was hard, trying not to plan adultery. Claire and Paige had been friends for years and years. She’d made firm plans to stand in their wedding party, smiling gently and wearing a bad dress. Her doubts about Luke had been shared on the group chat. He had seemed to her flabby and indistinct, as men went. Prone to withdrawn, self-absorbed statements. Claire had aired this to all, sure in the knowledge that the sanctity of girl’s group chat was inviolate. Even now she had no real fondness for Luke. It was simply that she was overpowered by the fact that he was male. He had a penis, it was full of jizz, and his annoyed masculinity was like a gentle tongue on her clit. She wanted a male.

Claire had the distinct sense it wasn’t really her decision, this whole “don’t give in” decision.. What was she going to do, say no? It was increasingly unthinkable. Not just the old sense of the word—Claire was finding it actually difficult to imagine. She teased at her hair, nervous. Was it longer, or was that just her?

“Claire, it’s your turn,” Luke said, breathing out through his nose, hard. He handed the picture of her sister’s slit back.

“Uno!” she said, frozen. She’d been deep in another fantasy about Luke’s cock. It was hard not to feel like crying. Why THIS? Why not just a simple upper respiratory illness? Any amount of phlegm was better than the realization that her snatch was leaking onto the floor.

They stewed there, breathing in each other. “Don’t give in,” Claire told herself. Don’t ask for his cum. Ignore the blood pounding in her ears, the scratchiness in her throat.

“Luke, can we... “ Paige motioned towards the bedroom. When Luke gave her a blank look she grimaced, and then briefly pantomimed sucking his dick. Claire was enormously relieved. Yes, Paige had given in. But it wasn’t her.

They could tell that Luke was relieved too. He smelled better. But he feigned reluctance, pretending that a bald request to blow him was rude in front of the guest. “Really? Alright. I’ve got this next Uno hand beat too. Maybe you’ll do better once you get a vanilla smoothie in you. Come on. Bring a glass. Claire, I’m assuming you want some of this?”

“Need,” Claire said, clawing some dignity back. “Call it a serum, when it’s me. Medicine or… drugs.” Boy, it sure felt like a drug. All three of them were happy again, now they were going to spill cum. The need had been growing all day long, very steadily. Claire wasn’t sure what would happen if she didn’t get some protein in her or on her. She didn’t want to find out.

They went into the bedroom, and Luke, once again, didn’t quite close the door.

“I think its bigger,” Claire heard Paige say. “Umm.. Luke honey… your dick is bigger.”

“Just go,” Luke said. Claire inched the door open with a finger. Luke had to be able to see the door move. He didn’t say anything.

They were doing the blowjob differently. In Claire’s admittedly-limited blowjob experience there were usually two options. The first was the guy sitting on the couch, the second was the guy lying down. Luke was still standing, his legs spread wide, his shorts around one of his ankles. His dick was bobbing in the middle of the room. Paige’s comment was totally unnecessary—of course it was bigger. Claire felt a wet patter on her tits and looked down. She’d downright drooled all over them.

Paige was sucking him differently, too. She’d wrapped her lips all the way around his dick, and was letting him know, with tiny noises of encouragement, that it was totally fine to go deeper. She was crouched, umpire-style, one arm on the other side of Luke to steady him.

“Alright, hold on,” was all he told her, and then he started to fuck her face.

Claire’s eyebrows shot up. Clearly things were getting a little porn-y but this was totally unnecessary. He was using her. The other shock was that Paige didn’t really seem to mind, although she was wobbling on her legs. From what little noises she was able to make, around his dick, it seemed like she was enjoying the hell out of it. Claire could barely remember drinking down that first salty squirt—she had a vague recollection of bright lights and music, and a strong desire to do it again. Paige was definitely enjoying it.

As intense as it was, Luke wasn’t going to last long. Especially with a day’s worth of cum stored up. “Get the glass ready,” he said. “Paige. Hurry up and get the glass ready. Paige!”

Paige didn’t give a single fuck about the glass. Her good friend put both hands on her man’s ass and drove her mouth hard. She had to have dick in her throat, and if it wasn’t an incredible and heart-rending betrayal Claire would’ve been impressed.

“God DAMN it AHH,” Luke said. The blood drained out of Claire. There it all went, into Paige. From the way his balls hung between his legs it was like a quart. Her body needed it for some reason, possibly to get even bigger and even more cum-thirsty, but whatever. Luke grunted and growled, then put his hand on Paige’s hair and shoved her back and forth, emptying out.

When he was done he let her go. Paige sank backwards, then further back, giggling stupidly. She hadn’t spilled a drop. “Paige, damn it, what the fuck was that?” Luke said. “How the hell are we—oh, god damn it.”

It was feigned, Claire was sure of it. He had to have known she was there. Up until the last betrayal her hand had rubbed between her legs. “Claire, come in. You can see what our little jizzhound did.”

She came in on her knees, uncertain. But the scent was intoxicating and the image of Luke standing there, cock wet, half-erect, was all she could really see. And besides, Paige was out of it, sperm-drunk and addled.

They locked eyes. It was no effort at all to look needy and bereft. She really did need it, physically need it. “Sorry,” Claire choked out. The whole thing was ludicrous, after all. No one needed jizz, not really. Men spent years talking girls into swallowing on their birthday. It was a delivery device for sperm. Salt and DNA. Claire tried to convince herself of all that. Another part of her, more practically, opened her mouth very wide.

Luke shivered, and his dick twitched. “Paige, I have to do something for Claire,” he said, too loudly. Paige was completely somewhere else, and said “okay!” in a soft, girlish voice.

“Not sure how much I have left,” he muttered, but his scent again betrayed him. He wanted to do this, wanted to jizz in the mouth of someone new. Had just enough left in him to make a fantasy happen. Claire got on her haunches just like Paige and went still. He grunted, cocked his dick like a shotgun, and shot. His dickhead was just inches away.

It was in her, thank god. This time she actually tasted it. It was concentrated Luke-scent, almost spiced, and wonderful. Her body wanted to shut down immediately. Claire fought it, fought through a wave of warm heat. She couldn’t collapse in their bedroom.

“Thanks for the medicine,” she managed, with a pert smile. DId she wink or just imagine it? Claire dragged herself to the guest bedroom, waggling her ass as she went. She had graduated from three academic programs, she had run a half-marathon twice, she had an extensive quilting collection, she had beat all her older brothers in chess, and the greatest moment of her life was sinking onto the bedspread with a nice load of cum in her tummy.

He was awake at 5, wide-awake, and eventually decided: fuck it. Time to go running. It seemed like a productive thing to do, and perhaps it would burn off the persistent, irritable edge on everything. It was impossible to say if it was virus or circumstance, this surge of persistent aggression, like he was held back by a cage of small threads. Frustration at being locked up and out of touch? Virus-generated male belligerence?

He pissed from a dick that was longer and heavier, even darker colored, the skin on it a tanned reddish-brown. Horse cock. He woke it up with a thought and watched the blood pump in. It was much bigger. “Damn,” he swore. What the hell was happening to them? To the world? Was there an entire globe out there getting gigantic dicks? Was global sperm supply a thing? His head warned off too much thinking about it, or anything. No wonder, all his blood was now in his penis. Luke put on shorts, painfully, took his running shoes out of the back of the car, and set off around the lake.

He’d nut in another woman’s mouth last night.

The problem was, it’d be so easy to excuse. Emergency situation. Paige had been a naughty little brat, hovering up the cum, leaving nothing for her supposed friend. Claire had walked in so needy and sad, and hell, Paige had given explicit verbal approval for her fiancee to shake out sperm droplets into her open mouth. Downright understandable, cumming into her open mouth.

So understandable, he wanted to do it again. She had opened her eyes so wide when he’d summoned one more spurt, the creamiest batch of the night. Paige had taken it. Claire had needed it.

This wasn’t working. Luke stopped running. The slightest breeze of sex and his dick shot up. He was going to have to tape it to his leg. Was this all really going to go back to normal? Some virus having fun, leaving them mildly swollen and sex-intent for seven to ten days? A wild, fun orgy for all of humanity? There’d be a bumper crop of babies in nine months, good god.

No, best not to think of that, either. Claire hadn’t told him if she was on birth control. She could be fertile. Maybe that’s what he scented, wanted… Nice creamy loads in her snatch would get the job done..

“Fuck!” Luke said, to the rising sun. It didn’t help that his balls were certainly bigger as well. He could feel them jostle around as he tried to run. Was all this stupid shit really permanent? He didn’t need a bigger cock, as good as it felt, as much as it made him feel like a man. He had a fiancee. He was going to marry this woman. Claire could get by on dixie cups.

He paused—wait, had he fucked Paige again, in the middle of the night? The memories slowly slipped in. He’d woken up past midnight, sweat-soaked, and decided to rummage around in Paige’s body. She was wet and hot in the stifling, muggy room, had backed her ass into him as he’d put his fingers in her. They’d wriggled against each other, wondering: what were they becoming? And then he’d picked her up and stuck her on his dick. She’d purred as she’d slipped on. Neither had spoken. After she’d cum, and he’d cum into her a lot, it was back to sleep. He hadn’t even really remembered, until now. Was his brain not even bothering to make all that into memories? Was fucking Paige going to be like going to the bathroom?

He could just picture Claire waiting patiently for his dixie cup…

Luke plunged himself into the lake. It soaked through his running shoes, but it was calming, cooling. Cold, actually. And a gross green in the early morning. He walked out and got ready to squish his way back.

There was a flash of some titties out of the corner of his eye.

It was one of the other vacation homes. They were almost all dark and quiet, closed up, but this one had the shades open. Luke craned his head. Someone was watching graphic pornography on a very large television. Even far away, he could see some bottle blonde with good tits doing that porn-only move where they looked back in mock-surprise at the dick sliding in and out.

He crept up, enticed, leaving footprints on the deck. Approaching quietly, he could see an older woman, her tits pooched out to both sides, her legs splayed high up in the air, like she was trying to touch the ceiling fan. He couldn’t see what she was doing to herself, but both hands were working hard.

His dick, soothed by the water, rocketed back up. Luke took two steps back, and bolted for the house.

No one had made him breakfast.

It was just six-thirty, true, but both girls were up, which meant they had the opportunity to make him breakfast. Claire was in the living room staring at a book, and doing her very best to not overly react when he strode by, dripping wet. The book started to shake. Luke ignored her: if she wanted cum, making him bacon would’ve been a good start. Paige was still in the master bathroom. He opened the commercial-grade cheerio box and filled the bowl up to the very top. Cheerios cascaded as he poured the milk in.

“Are you blonde now?” he said, roughly, at Claire.

“Ummm. Yeah, I guess,” she said. Her glasses were looking more and more out of place on the rest of her. She was a dark blonde, her curls sweeping her shoulders.

Luke ate five bowls, and then went and methodically ate bread, and then ate an entire jar of peanut butter. The irritation mounted and grew—they knew he was making his own breakfast. Obviously he was starving from the caloric needs of adding dick. Ultimately they needed his protein, was it so much to ask that they get it into him? Even his bites were angry. The only good thing was that the frustration kept his dick from surging up again.

“Your tits are huge now too,” he told Claire. She nodded, meekly.

It was challenging to even try and tell himself he was being unfair, virus-warped. He hadn’t made breakfast for anyone. But there it was: he was doing all the hard work of fucking and cumming while the girls lazed around giggling and high on his spunk, they could pitch in in the damn kitchen. Maybe wearing pink aprons and letting him fuck them while doing the god damn dishes.

“Hey babe,” Paige said. She grinned at him, kissed him on his still wet hair. Her tits pressed against his back. She’d put on a white and green striped shirt, no bra, and a pair of shorts that were painted on her. “How was your jog? You need more cardio? Did we fuck last night?”

She must’ve smelled his anger. “Everything okay?” Claire, who must’ve been scenting it the entire time, had put the book down and was studiously avoiding his glare.

He had to choke this irritation down. “When it’s… breakfast…. Would you mind… cooking?” There. Civil. Paige looked struck. Whatever thoughts were coursing through her had better work fast. He had no patience for anything about gender roles, for setting up a chore rota. It was extremely important to him, now, that his soon-wife feed her soon-husband.

“Oh! Oh sure! I can—did you eat all of this?” She pointed to the peanut butter.

“I need the protein,” Luke said. Her regret and apologies were a cool balm. Order was restored. She’d never forget, of course not. Of course he was hungry, growing that nice big dick. It was enormously gratifying to see her suddenly bustle around, appalled.

“What were you up to?” Luke said, genuinely curious. He’d been seething on it for some time.

Paige relaxed. “Getting all smooth,” she whispered, in his ear. “I found an old razor.”

“Lets see,” Luke said. Paige smiled even more broadly. This had probably been her plan all along. She ambled backwards. “Come into the bedroom,” she teased.

“I’m still eating. Lets see.”

Paige glanced over at Claire, who had a view to all of this. Their look was unreadable. Neither had said no to him, so far. Once again her hesitation was just a few ticks on the clock. Paige dropped her shorts. She wasn’t wearing any panties. She was as smooth and pert as promised.

Her scent surrounded him—that crisp, citrus scent, that same… off note. Luke reached over and rubbed his finger on his fiancee’s pussy. It was all pink and wet. The lesson to Claire was: this is my special pussy. I want this. He stuck his finger into his mouth, sucked on it. Like lemon sugar. He wanted this. And, he had to remember, only this.

Paige was well aware of her own reputation in the girl group chat. They’d shared far too many confidences, far too many cutting jokes, to not put her on notice. She was the normal one, a human yardstick. Ordinary, standard, not the funny one [that was Candice], not the smart one [Claire], not the fun, daring one [Mary, Sarah]. For a long time Paige had assumed she was the pretty one [shy but sexy Hannah]. The sour reality of it hit hard after college especially, when they all went off for advanced degrees or trips in Europe and she… started an office job of total mundanity, at exactly $45,000 a year.

When she’d gotten together with Luke the group chat had chattered around it, never quite saying it: was this love, or did she have nothing better to do? Was this just part of her greased ride towards 2 kids, a love-hate relationship with the Weightwatchers app? Any truth to the rumors that she was racing to be the first to the wedding, momentarily triumphant in bridal white?

And now her fiancee was giving long looks at the smart one, who was also rapidly becoming the pretty one, and was definitely a horny one. It was time they talked, after Paige cooled down from getting her pussy fondled in the kitchen. Her heart slammed in her chest. It had been intensely humiliating and also so fucking hot.

She’d woken up grinning and kinda blonde and kinda titties.

“Hey, lets see if there’s anything interesting in the junk room,” she said to Claire. Luke was tinkering with his laptop, trying to get an internet signal.

The junk room housed four generations of lake crap, and smelled like lake, to boot. She’d come in briefly to take some of the board game supply—it was magnificent, and consumed an entire large cabinet with moldy cardboard. There were still swimsuits hung up to dry on the spare table in 2003 waiting for their owners. Deflated floaties on the wood. Claire had poured herself into a pair of khaki shorts much like her own. The way things were going, they were going to bust the buttons by noon.

Claire had, of course, beautiful hair. It was riotous, red and blonde and rainbow-pretty. Magnetic, full of personality. She herself was, of course, a dumb ash, all curled up. Both of their mouths hung open. The good news was, Claire was looking kinda dim. The bad news was, it was just making her more fuckable.

“No fucking Luke,” Paige said, once the door was closed.

“I’m not,” Claire said. Her face was going soft, which was especially unnerving. Claire had always been lines and angles, and she was covering all of that with feminine softness. Paige had struggled to locate her own cheekbones in the mirror. “Seriously, Paige, I’m definitely not.”

“No, I don’t want you to say, you’re not. I want you to say no to HIM. I don’t want you waiting around him with your pussy in the air wafting pheromones everywhere and then when he strides over you’re like, oh dear, I guess I can’t say no to this big strong man. I want you to say NO to my FIANCEE.”

Claire’s hand flickered over to Paige’s hand. Her fucking fingers were getting thicker, along with the rest of her. Her engagement ring was too tight. It was a low blow to even look at.

“I didn’t invite you here, I took you in when Luke wanted to let you starve in the shed, and I don’t want you to reward me by FUCKING LUKE,” Paige hissed. It was challenging to keep up arguments like this. Her body didn’t feel chemically geared for nasty catfights. She had all sorts of hormones in her blood, and they were presumably supposed to make her horny and happy. Both of their tits shook when they argued, or talked, or moved around much at all.

“I didn’t say anything when you stole jizz I need to not die,” Claire said. She had her arms crossed, which just highlighted how big her tits were getting. Paige had chosen to semi-hide them behind a breezy top. Claire had on a low-cut magenta thing that strained at both straps. “I’ve gotten like a thimble of sperm. YOU get to fuck him whenever you want, get felt up for funsies, while I’m in bed all night frigging myself senseless.”

“You think I like getting rubbed off like a toy in the kitchen? In front of YOU?”

“Oh please, you loved it,” Claire snapped. “I saw that juice trickling down your leg.”

They glared at each other. But it was so hard to keep going—they really had been friends forever, and besides, they both needed someone to talk to. Plus they were both loaded up to their eyeballs with oxytocin and serotonin.

“It’s all so WEIRD,” Paige said, flopping into a forgotten folding chair, never refolded. She didn’t say it, but it was super weird to see Claire so… dumb. She’d picked up a whole host of blonde mannerisms apparently overnight: twirling her hair, biting her lip, cocking her head. Her voice had acquired a new high-pitched frequency.

“Yah,” Claire agreed. “You know when you were fucking Luke last night? It was like 2 in the morning?”

Paige struggled to remember. Had that happened? Had a lengthy fuck session been blasted clean out of her head? “Sure?” she said.

“Anyway I was feeling a little sad and I went out and ate all that ice cream we got. Just completely housed it. I ate an entire quart. Yeah. Wake up this morning, I should feel pretty bad? Nothing. And look at my ASS!”

She turned around. Paige wasn’t super aware of the normal contours of Claire’s butt, but it definitely wasn’t the thick, round rear waggling in her direction. She’d added a ton of rear apparently not just overnight, but half-overnight. “Also, do you realize you’re going mega perm blonde?” Claire said.

“Mega perm blonde?” Paige reached for her phone. She’d been a brunette forever, excepting one struggle summer, when she was green-pink. It was far lighter than even last night, and traveling up from the roots. Only her tips were still a mild wood-brown. “Holy crap. And whats with your hair? It’s red-yellow-whatever.”

“I’m not getting the cum you are. I’m getting the ice cream. I bet thats it. I don’t know. Whatever.”

Claire slapped her rear, experimentally. “Jiggles,” she reported.

They started to giggle, and couldn’t stop. It was all so stupid, turning ice cream into butts and sprouting big tits and lusting for boy jizz. They were just horny girls, old friends, tittering away. Claire sat next to her in the other folding chair, still giggling, and they admired their own legs, how soft they were.

“We should play more chess or somethin,” Claire said. “I’m kinda worried we’re getting ditzy, you know? I was reading a book out there and it was like, damn. Paragraphs.”

“Yeah, the game with the horses,” Paige agreed. “We super should.”

After sitting there for a bit, thighs companionably together, they heard Luke call out “Girls?”

They rose, obediently.

Her man was cross-legged in a pile of cords and electronic components. He looked troubled. Whenever he sat like that his dick bulged obscenely.

“I’ve sort of got the internet working through my phone connection,” he reported. “So that’s back.”

“Great!” Paige said. She only half-realized that she and Claire had walked in holding hands.

“Uh-huh, sort of. Here, I’ve got it mirrored onto the TV.” He flicked the screen on. Instead of the comforting buzz there was a mirror of his laptop. “Now, here’s the part that I’m really worried and concerned about. Lets try CNN.”

He typed in the page. The website caught, and then stuck, redirected. What loaded in, with impressive speed, was bright neon pink, with a video link foregrounded in the center. The teaser image was of two big, big butts, naked, spread, facing the camera. A bunch of other thumbnails belatedly popped up.

“Porn. It’s all porn,” Luke said.

“What about… ummm… facebook and stuff?” Paige quizzed. She had started twirling her hair some time ago and couldn’t quite seem to stop it. It was kinda really hard to think clearly around Luke. Most of her processing was taken up by the way Luke smelled and the way Luke looked. And staring at his dick. What was left over after all that was her remaining personality and intellect.

“It works but you don’t want to see it. It’s just aunt pussy, believe me. Lots of aunt pussy,” he looked mildly haunted. “Everyone seems to be having… fun. Here, let me try, I don’t know, PBS.”

He slowly typed it in. The same kind of porno started to roll, although, and maybe it was a coincidence, it was a little less explicit. A blonde and a brunette were passionately making out. There was no guy in the scene at all, and it was softly lit—nearly romantic. Despite Luke’s proximity Paige turned to it, mouth open. It was fun to see people have sex.

“I can’t fix the screen fuzz when the video plays,” Luke said. There was a sort of shimmer effect. It reminded her of something she couldn’t quite place. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Yeah… yeah. Internet” Paige said, half-listening, even though it was Luke. She’d been happily hetero her entire life, even though half the group chat had discussed delightful encounters in college. Claire was staring at the screen with the same rapt attention Paige was giving it. The girls were so soft and round and happy together. When the camera dipped down it turned out they were fingering each other. But mostly they were kissing, sloppy and wet and pleased. Whispering things the mic couldn’t quite pick up. Eventually, after they’d all sat there, watching porn, for a good seventeen minutes, one of the girls started to cum. Paige was mildly disappointed—it was such a nice scene.

“Any—anyway,” Luke said, frowning. He turned the screen off. Paige decided not to mention the little cute trail of drool on Claire’s lips.

Actually, it gave her the best idea.

“Honey, I think its time for a refill,” she said. Luke grumbled at it by default, but stood up right away. They were all randy.

“Get a cup this time, and I’ll hold it,” Luke said, retreating to the bedroom. Paige tingled with The Plan. She had to stick to it. It was brilliant—the perfect way to cement her friendship while also making clear that LUKE was HERS. She knelt, cup in hand. This time Luke took control from the start, putting his hand on the back of her hair.

“Are you really this blonde now?” he said, just as she started to suck.

He was producing more sperm, for certain, coating her mouth with a batch almost immediately. Her pussy sparked and cheered, and Paige made a show of spitting it into the cup, to demonstrate what a good girl she was being. Although she nearly had to push him to let Luke off. They’d have to have a talk of some kind about using her mouth like a tuck toy.

He twitched and came for realsies right after she started to lick the underside of his shaft. That was thrilling independently—she was learning how to please him. Cum gushed out. Paige swallowed the first load, and then fought through the waves of hot stupid pleasure to hold on to shot two. This turned into four or five, and she had to let some dribble out into the cup, and he broke free to drizzle more on her face. Luke looked surprised by the volume as much as she was.

“I’ll just give this to Claire,” she said. It was nice she wasn’t passing out, although most of Paige just wanted to fall back on the bed and giggle. His cum smelled like him.

Claire was still where they’d left her, phone in hand, legs open. She’d clearly been frigging herself, and half-heartedly stopped. Her eyes watched the cup Paige held. It was halfway full. But that wasn’t the surprise.

Paige impressed herself with how smoothly she handled it. She edged close to Claire, let the other woman smell Luke’s cum all over her. And when her lips parted, Paige went in for the kiss. Her special present flowed smoothly into Claire’s mouth. They held it for a long time, hungry for each other, eyes wide open. Paige wasn’t at all sure what this meant—were they virus lesbians or something? Or just horny for whatever?

And then Claire’s eyes rolled back, and she went limp.

“Amateur,” Paige said, playfully. Friendship spat over. She rewarded herself with a chug from the glass. She’d earned it.

“I’m worried,” Claire said. They’d gone out front to the shed. Luke had broken the brittle lock with two swings of a hammer they’d found, and was busy surveying the contents. It was mostly two ATVs and the materials needed to service two ATVs. And a deflated raft that was completely covered in spiders.

“Good, that’s smart,” Luke said. He was still shirtless. Claire wasn’t about to say anything that could be construed as flirting, not after reaching such a fragile detente with Paige. But it would’ve helped, maybe, with his mind-searing scent and general sexiness if he just put on a t-shirt. He was sweating in the heat and the dark humidity in the shed. “Lots to worry about. Plenty of problems.”

It’d be nice, wouldn’t it, if they could just enjoy themselves? Everyone was fucking each other senseless, experiencing mind shattering orgasms, and no one seemed all that pleased. Perhaps growing big new sexy bodies was always going to be disquieting, but Claire had no choice but to blame herself. How bad could it be, the two of them, honeymooning as their new genitals came in, without her? She probably could’ve knocked on doors in her apartment complex with a spoon and a smile, naked, and found someone with a cock.

Her hand inched up to tease at her hair. She stopped it. That was what she was currently most worried about.

“It’s Paige,” Claire said, to the dark, manly figure in the shed. His scent rolled out of the cavern in rich waves. It was like huffing sex. “Does she seem different to you?”

“Like what?” Luke said, genuinely confused. It was an incredibly dumb question, to be fair.

“Like… kinda… ditzy. A lot ditzy,” Claire said. She finished it with a giggle and a titter she didn’t intend. Paige was showing her trust in them by letting Claire go out and chat with her future hubby. She was also glancing out the window every four or five seconds while cooking dinner. Claire’s friend wore an apron and no shirt, and her impossibly blond-ing hair was shining in the late afternoon sun.

Luke’s look somehow darkened. It wasn’t clear to Claire what he was hoping to find in the shed. It was basically all spiders. “Go on,” he said.

“She just seems, kinda, I don’t know,” there was no nice word for it. “Dumb? Cum dumb? We had a chat and she was all umms and errs and twirling hair and I swear her voice is higher. And she drooled while we were watching that lez video. Plus your fiancee is turning into a super bright blonde.”

She had his attention. So he had noticed. “Blondes aren’t necessarily dumb,” Luke said, but he emerged to talk to her. God, he was so hot. She would swear he had more pecs now. “But……… yeah. I was asking her about her family, and she said she was trading pussy pics with her sister. Her sister is basically a nun. Most religious person I’ve ever met. And now I check her phone and Paige is swapping pictures of their cunnies with sperm dripping out of them. And she’s not even writing words. It’s either emojis or her pussy. And she sees nothing wrong with that.”

Claire shifted. A male friend had really enjoyed her pics of her own newly shaved-down snatch. Or at least had thumbed-up it, which was reason enough for her to add a dozen more. “I think its the cum,” Claire said. “She’s gotten a lot more than me and I think its, you know, getting to her head.”

Luke grunted again. He was doing that more and more. “You’re going blonde too. And your tits are bigger than hers.”

“I’m doing okay,” Claire lied. That was the most worrisome part, the one she didn’t really want to talk about. She was feeling dumb as shit, and getting her first big cum load, as amazing as it was, wasn’t going to help matters. She’d tried to sit and read a book, and it was like the words were greased. Her pussy was increasingly calling the shots. “I think for me I’ve been mostly eating instead of, you know, sucking on your penis, and so the virus or whatever is hitting my body more?” She giggled, nervous at saying that many words to a man, and touched at her tits for emphasis.

“If it is a virus,” Luke said. He scratched at his chin. He had more bristles than one day would really justify. All he needed to be a sexy lumberjack was an axe. And Claire was sure she’d seen a rusty one in the shed. “Is your body really that different?”

Claire knew exactly where Paige was—away from the window, distracted with trying to start a burner. She’d hate herself for this, but…. “Take a look,” Claire said. She put her hands on her hips and bent all the way over. Her face was up against some leaves.

Her ass was getting out of control. It hurt in the shorts she’d found, and they were stretchy, spandex-y things worn out from a decade or more of use. She’d added curves nearly minute by minute. Her appetite was incredible—she’d made an effort to avoid the critical supplies, and so had gone through bags of nuts, spaghetti, whatever she could make. Even her clit seemed larger. It certainly felt bigger.

Claire detected the catch in Luke’s breathing. It was terrible that she was doing this to Paige. She’d checked her plump ass in the mirror right before heading outside—it was a dream butt, designed to slide onto cocks. She needed him to see it, admire it, touch it, fuck it. The silence behind her was loud. Claire strained with all her soggy, fading willpower, and straightened up. “Its… as you can plainly SEE,” she was nearly panting. Luke’s eyes were feral. She had probably squirted pheromones all over his face. How close had he gotten to grabbing her? “It’s big. Big ‘ol butt.”

“Dinnertime!” Paige called out, cheerful and ditzy.

“Oh god,” Claire said, falling backwards onto the guest bed. “I must’ve looked like a big oinky piggy.”

Paige giggled. Now that they had cleared the air and reaffirmed that Luke was hers Paige seemed completely happy with her being there. “We all got a lil out of control,” Paige admitted.

All three of them had been ravenous, animal-like. Luke had eaten with a glowering, dog-like intensity, like a labrador with a bowl. He’d taken whatever he wanted, although since what there was was pasta, in different shapes and sizes, it wasn’t a stretch. But both Paige and Claire had put their mouths right up to the plate to shovel it in. They’d finished off the milk. There’d been two gallons at the start of the night. Eventually Luke had put a gallon jug in front of his plate and drank steadily from it.

“I’m gonna be all tits and ass,” Claire moaned. “Why did I do that? I know what its doing to me. I’m fueling it, Paige. We’re fueling it.” She laid on her boobs. They seemed ready to grow. Her nipples poked into the bedspread.

Paige was in a good mood. Or, and Claire was increasingly leaning in this direction, she was getting a little dim for a bad mood. Bad moods took some imagination. That last huge load of Luke cum hadn’t done her brains any favors. For dinner she’d cooked up a rectangle of ground beef, browned on both sides, with tomato sauce on top. And then pasta shapes generally mixed together. The broccoli she’d microwaved. Claire had eaten it anyway, big rough stalks. Hopefully the greens weren’t just fuel for tits.

“Maybe it’s a sign our bodies are healing?” Paige said. She was even blonder than before.

“Yeah, sure,” Claire mumbled. “What am I even gonna wear tomorrow?”

“Ooh, good question,” Paige opened the drawers. In truth, there was probably something that would fit. It had turned out that her family habitually dumped old clothes on the Lake House. “Here you go, this will fit,” she tossed a men’s large t-shirt on Claire. It was Space Jam themed. “Dump those big ol titties in there.”

“Do you have anything for big dumb butts?” Claire said, turning over. “Not too tight. My pussy is—I mean, you know. It’s crazy.”

“Hmmm. I have cargo shorts, size teen boy. What’s up with your clitty, Claire?”

“Ughhhh,” Claire said. She closed her eyes. Maybe when she opened them, this would all be over. She’d be in her own apartment, sensibly dressed in grey pajamas. When she sniffed the air it would smell like—nothing, not poorly prepared dinners and spunk and Luke and spunk. Instead, she felt hands on her straining shorts button. “Eh?”

They’d kept the porno on during dinner. It had been fixated on girl-on-girl, a background medley of passionate moans that had just run, for no reason. Whenever Claire had stared at it, which was more often then she would’ve liked to admit, there was a new girl with someone between her legs, acting like she’d touched a live wire. Paige had been seated directly facing the display, and had frequently drifted off, noodles falling off her fork. Once she had whimpered.

“Paige?”

“Look, you’re all shavey too,” Piage said, sliding her shorts down. It was just as well. They were far too small, and moist to boot. It was true, Claire had spent an hour buzzing herself, as well as any other hair she could find. It had nearly fallen out on its own, honestly, and hadn’t hurt a bit. Now she was nearly waxed, doll-like. Paige leaned over her, smiling softly, her still-growing tits heavy and thick.

“Paige, you just totally lectured me on not stealing your man, i’m not gonna steal his girl,” Claire said. Paige rubbed at her inner thighs. Claire squirmed. She knew exactly how this was supposed to go. It was already unspooling in her head, unstoppable. Paige would say something adorably stupid, and then just lick away…

“Its just girl fun,” Paige said, inanely, and then lowered her head between Claire’s thighs. Claire almost sobbed. It was just so nice to be touched, even if it was crazy, and by her virus-addled good friend. Plus her clit was on fire. She put her hands on the back of Paige’s head, just like Luke had done. Sure enough, the passionate tongue work sped up. Claire gently let one hand go free so she could claw at the bed. Her toes flexed.

Paige surfaced momentarily for a kiss. She was sopping wet from Claire cunt, and it was—scented. Sweet strawberry sugar. Was that what she smelled like to Luke? Paige herself had lemon-citrus breath. They both felt so good it was nice just to wiggle together, grinding mindlessly, shuddering as something like an orgasm, but better, shook one or the other.

Luke came in. They both paused, pussies leaking, as he looked them both over. Was this it? The moment? But then he shrugged it off, moved back out. Maybe it really was just girl fun.

There was still one big juicy orgasm at the end of this road. Claire felt dominant, aggressive. It was probably the last time she was gonna get to call the shots in sex, so she went with it. “Get back down there and lick, dummy,” she said, to her grinning new lover.

The grin died. “Dummy?” Paige said.

“Am I really being kinda ditzy?” Paige sniffled. It was kinda hot that she was blurbling tears onto her much bigger tits.

Luke wasn’t sure how to handle this kind of situation. On the one hand, he had taken up a regal position on his lawn chair overlooking the lake, back inclined, the last rays of the sun behind them glancing off the surface. He had much to think about.

“It’s okay, baby,” Luke went with. It was nice, and fun, that he had such easy access to Paige’s body. She sat with her legs open on the side of the chair, upset. It was clear to both of them, through complex scent signals, that fondling her tits would make them both feel better. Luke took a meaty hand and tugged on them, then nestled his digits between her nice smooth legs. He idly rubbed at her pussy, possessive.

Of course Paige was being ditzy. He’d asked her to pass the salt at dinner and she’d looked around the table, unsure. “It’s white,” he’d told her. “Oh! Salt! Of course!” his fiancee had responded. Pre-viral Paige hadn’t aced the SAT but was good for some sharp quips and insightful comments. Now she was full blonde, and was letting him rub her tits out in public.

Luke was more concerned about, first, himself, and second, the entire world. He had a sneaking suspicion he was getting as cum-dumb as the girls. He’d tried to figure out more of the internet situation after dinner—it made no sense that every website he could think of redirected to sex acts of varying intensity. But firing up a configuration manager had given him a dull, warning headache, an irritated sense of unease. The porno was still playing behind them. Some girl getting her mouth fucked. It had a nice techno beat to it.

And there was the world to think of.

The texts and chats were getting worse. “Texts” was putting it strongly—it was a flurry of images and videos, skin on skin, sprayed at whoever the owner could think to text. Amanda had sent him a long, long video of her fucking herself with a brush handle. To be honest, he’d sort of pushed her to do it, telling her she had to be cumming in everything she sent. Her tits were coming in just as nice as Paige’s.

But there were images from outside, where everyone wore sunny smiles and little else, tight little skirts and the shortest shorts, if only because clothes were ultimately sexier then no clothes. One shot from Amanda showed a city street, by accident, while she was spasming from an orgasm. The shot was blurry, but it sure looked like people just fucking on top of cars, on doorsteps, wherever. What little words there were talked about smell a lot. “Smells so fucking good now,” one said. “SO GOOD,” another had responded.

Luke could feel the headache coming back. Too much worry. His balls ached.

There were nice things about all of it, he was readily able to admit. It was fucking rad to have a big dick. He’d walked around the house just to feel it swinging between his legs. It really did swing, pendulum, the weight comforting and exhilarating. A huge cock! It felt incredible and had a shaft like a god had polished it. Even the great big balls—he was becoming fond of them. There was just something about the trepidation in Paige’s eyes right before he unloaded, that look that meant: oh boy, here it comes. The muscles were a bonus, the way his chin had become actual, that as nice. But a huge dick to fuck Paige with…

Luke realized he was fucking her right there.

He felt a mild panic. Not only was he fucking her, it was out in public. And roughly—he had apparently just started to bounce her pussy up and down on his shaft. When the hell had this all happened? Yes, he had been busy fingering her, but his dick had been safely constrained in some swim shorts. Now it was glistening as he used his fiancee like a sex toy.

“Paige, what the hell is happening to us?” he said, still gripping her hips and sliding her up and down. She was squeezing with her pussy as hard as she could. Luke groaned and sat back, releasing her grip. It felt so incredible, too. And his headache was gone. He let Paige milk him dry. She flopped off, panting. It was dark out, now. The TV colors played off of Paige’s skin. Shit, he should’ve saved some spunk for Claire. Maybe she could lick it—ugh.

Maybe he’d gotten her pregnant. But no, the pills. Luke felt a wild spasm of anger. Why did that bother him? He’d dumped a big load in his complaint fuck toy of a partner. Did he need to knock her up to boot? He took several deep breaths.

“Lets get out,” Luke announced, sitting up. “I’m going to put an actual shirt on and we’re going to go out. All of us. Windows down, see what’s up, nice long drive. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Paige said, breathing hard. His dick twitched. Sir. Now, that made him feel better..

The t-shirt hardly fit, and was full to bursting with abs, but Luke felt great to be out of the house. He revved the engine. That felt amazing too. One arm out the window, hand on the wheel, two horny girls in the car, evening breeze. It was nice.

“This new butt makes sitting feel weird,” Claire said, from the backseat. “I’m like, higher up. I’m seriously taller sitting because of my butt. That is fucked up. Oh my god.”

Her voice had caught up to that randy, high-pitched lilt that Paige had already gotten. Luke didn’t mention to Claire that her hair was well into its inevitable blondification. She was too busy digging around underneath her own ass, squirming and sweaty in her spandex shorts. They were four or five sizes too small.

“Look at my tits,” Paige said, as they pulled out. Luke pressed heavy on the accelerator by accident—he was not used to new muscles. The girls squealed, so he played it off. “There’s a seatbelt in there because, you know, safety first, but you can NOT even tell! Ohmygod!” She hefted her new boobs, appreciative.

Luke turned on the light to check something. Paige’s hair was a perfect golden sun, reflecting light like a field of wheat. There was just a trace of dark brown under there, like the hint of dirt. He touched her hair, curious. Paige giggled.

“Where to, ladies? Just drive around?” Luke said.

“Lets go into town,” Claire said.

“Oh shit, for ice cream?” Paige said. “Oh damn. I would do something for ice cream. I would go nuts. Holy wow I want some damn ice cream. Ice cream. Claire, chant it. ICE CREAM.”

“ICE CREAM!” Claire said, both bimbos giggling.

They were all still hungry, and had eaten essentially the entire household bare, including the spaghetti from two product design changes ago that Paige had found in the back of the pantry. They’d gone through six gallons of milk in about a day.

The girls were sort of mad at each other, Luke could smell it. Actually, he could pretty much smell the entire sequence of events. From the lemon-Luke tinge around Claire it was pretty obvious Paige had insisted she lick pussy to get at the filling inside before they all went out. And from Paige’s red-hot aura it was pretty clear she was upset with Claire nonetheless. He’d briefly wondered if he gave a shit about the two ladies sucking and fucking each other, given that one was his fiancee, and decided he didn’t. It just felt… beneath him to care. They didn’t even have a dick.

“We’re doing a check,” Luke explained. Ice cream did sound amazing, but there was no chance at all any ice cream stores were operating, given the general sex chaos. Even if they were, he wouldn’t trust the hygiene. Both Claire and Paige couldn’t keep their hands out of their pussies. “See how everything is going, see if anyone is starting to get over the virus. How long it lasts. That kind of thing. I’m hoping it’s just—oh.”

They’d pulled into town.

Paige had described it to them while Claire had recovered from the usual post-cum giggling disorientation. The town was a single block with the absolute bare minimum of vacation amenities: the other diner, fishing, auto parts, gas, ice cream slash convenience store. She’d described the street with a yearning amber-tinted nostalgia factor that had even gotten Luke interested, in spite of the ongoing horny flu. It sounded sedate, and sedate sounded nice.

“Oh, shit,” Claire said, and started to roll up the window.

It was too late. The scent had gotten into the car.

It was a blood-pounding, unescapable, mammalian pheromone to it, a command right to the hindbrain that said: breed. And there was so much of it, so many girls and boys emitting their own come-fuck-me signals to the world. It wasn’t at all like luxuriating in the details of Claire’s rich, sugar scent, or Paige’s easy lemon-y softness. It was all blended together into a song, the only common note of which was: fuck. Mate. Breed. Breed a lot. Fertilize and procreate. Luke’s dick spurted involuntarily, spraying cum over his shorts.

He jammed on the car windows and threw the wheel around. What was especially concerning was—there was almost no one in sight. Yes, he could hear a lot of low moans behind the closed doors all throughout the various buildings. When the light shone on the convenience store he could see dozens of legs in various positions. But the streets were clear. This was just the open air, whatever escaped from the sex fug inside the town. And it was shockingly intense.

“Go, go,” Claire said, plugging her nose, starting forwards into the seat. Paige was already slumped backwards, her hands digging between her legs. The blood pounded in Luke’s ears, to the tune of the tinny pop song on the radio. He needed to fuck so badly. He needed to pump and pollinate, fuck and breed. Pound every female until they were drunk on jism, unable to walk. There was a single lady outside, on a bench, naked from below the waist, stroking herself. She had a lazy smile on her face.

They were clear of it.

“What the hell?” Luke said, when he resumed the ability to talk. “What the hell-fuck? What the FUCK?” He’d driven, apparently, on pure instinct, his foot down to the metal. They’d come to a halt near a roadside ditch.

“Holy shit, holy fuck,” Claire said. Both girls had their hands stuffed down their shorts.

“Get out of the car,” he told Paige. She was well past talking, drooling and fingering. “Ugh. Fine.” His balls ached. Breed. He needed to breed. Luke got out of the car and unbuckled her seat belt, pulled his fiancee over to the hood of the car, and plunked her down face first. Her skirt was easy enough to slide down, and her panties were easy enough to tear off with his big new fists. As strange as it was, the scent of just Paige’s pussy steadied him, driving out the overall miasma. His dick was warm in the summer air. .He sank it into her.

It was an incredible, soothing relief. They both sagged into each other. It was tough, being in rut without a partner. Their bodies desperate to flood into each other, get on with the sex they needed to do. Luke wasn’t even sure he needed to orgasm to cum, anymore. It just flowed out in a natural stream, more evolutionarily efficient, if he thought about it. Which he did not. But this way it would be simple to, say, breed dozens of women in a go, sinking into them, casually impregnating, and then moving on.

The radio played on, louder and louder it seemed, timing just right with Luke’s thrusts. Ordinarily he liked to take long strokes, admiring the new size of his dick, but the situation called for short, hard thrusts, pinning her up against the dusty car hood. Paige’s tits rubbed up against the metal, picking up dirt. She was nearly silent, focusing on squeezing him dry.

Luke sniffed. There was a sour note. His senses, dulled in every other way, jumped on it, prodded the sensation, and answered it. It was so shocking he stopped mid-thrust. Paige’s birth control, that was it. That was fucking it. He nearly laughed, not that he was still able to, during heat. No wonder he’d felt so off, fucking his fiancee. It was just a pollination thing. He’d flush her pills down the toilet first thing on return, get her properly bred. It was actually an enormous relief and explained a ton. He unloaded in Paige, rubbing her ass affectionately.

He scented Claire before he saw her. Living with tunnel vision, only focused on cooze, he hadn’t seen her sidle in on the hood of the car, her ass in the air. Lubricant ran down her thighs. Her big ass stuck out.

Luke rationalized quickly and painlessly. It was simple to assemble a number of reasons why he should finally stick his penis inside of this girl, definitely to impregnate her. First of all it wasn’t clear what the virus did to girls who couldn’t fuck, but it was probably really bad. Second—but why number and list at all? They were in the woods and he wanted to fuck her. Wasn’t that enough? She smelled too good for it to be a lie. Sweet and scented, with that extra note that meant: easy to fertilize. He could explain knocking her up to Paige in the morning .Honestly, Paige was getting a little dumb to care all that much.

“I need it,” Claire said, her teeth gritted. “I just—need. I need.”

“Sure, sure,” Luke said. He adjusted her ass to where he liked it and plunged in without ceremony. He hadn’t had sex with anyone besides Paige in nearly two years, and certainly not moments after fucking Paige. It was nice. With the immediate urge gone he could take his time enjoying himself. Paige had gone limp on the car hood and was very slowly sliding off of it and onto the dirt. Luckily her tits had enough friction to slow her down.

“What are we turning into?: he said, to no one. Certainly not to Claire, who was finally, gloriously, getting herself fucked. She was hard to hold on to, with all that butt, and seemed like she just wanted to grind on him. Luke gave her a few firm smacks on the ass. Just enough to communicate who was in charge. But he did bear down when he felt his first load of cum approaching. Claire had earned it.

He hummed along to the radio. His fiancee finally tumbled off the car hood.

Paige was pissed.

Her finance—fiant? Christ, what was the fucking WORD? Her boyfriend who was nearly her husband had not only not fucked her, he had made a big deal out of not fucking her.

Not that he had avoided her entirely. When she’d woken up Paige had playfully wrapped her hands around him and tugged him off. It wasn’t what she really wanted, which was dick, but it was a good opportunity to just feel and smell the wonderful man she was somehow, incredibly, waking up next to. He was massive, muscled, covered in hair, including healthy patches of fuzz all over his back, which probably meant virility. She smooshed her tits against his back and tugged at his dick, marveling at it, that it was intended fo her. When he came it nearly hit the adjacent wall.

“Whoops,” she’d giggled, licking her fingers. It was another sunny day. And then she’d wriggled her butt into him, expecting some nice, easy penetration, only for him to just lay there, a manly boulder. He smelled upset, which made her upset, and angry, which made her even more upset.

“Paige, do you even remember last night?” Luke said.

“Uhhh…” Paige said. She frowned, shook her head. It was all soft cotton candy in there. “Uhhhhhhhhhhh. No. Wait. We went for a drive.”

“And?”

“I don’t know, I guess we drove around?” Paige squinted. A headache loomed, right away. “Is this why I’m all muddy?” She’d woken up all covered in rich, loamy dirt. It hadn’t occurred to her to think anything of it.

“Yeah,” he turned around. Her breath caught. He was so magnifi—mag—so fuckin’ hot. “Hey, listen. This is important. Try to… think. Smart thoughts. And make sure to take your birth control. Regular. Alright? In fact, go take it right now. And go take a shower. You’re filthy.”

“Can I get a refill first?” Paige said. His dick was again pointed at her. It’d be easy to just move his hips forward. She’d do the rest. And it would put this rising anxiety to rest—why wouldn’t he fuck her? They’d been awake for all of five or six minutes. “Top me off?”

“No. Definitely no. Do you feel that same need? Like you’re dying without it?”

Paige searched her feelings. “No,” she admitted. “I just kinda… want it.”

“Then you can wait. Maybe we are starting to get over this. Go take a shower. You smell. God, we all smell.” he shuddered.

Paige took her time getting sudsy. Was she really getting dumb? It was super hard to think of smart stuff when you had to do it like, on demand. She could conjure up images of what books looked like. In fact, if she wanted to, she could think of entire libraries. And all the different numbers seemed to be there. She said her alphabet out loud no problem at all. On the other hand, she was ten minutes in the shower before she realized she’d been just mindlessly soaping up her tits the entire time.

“I think all my body hair fell off,” she reported.

“Yeah, well, its on me now,” Luke said. He was still lying in bed. His dick stuck straight up. He was messing around with his phone. “I’m so damn hairy. Come on out. We need to have a family meeting.”

Family meeting. That had a nice ring to it. They were clearly not at the point in the relationship where they’d have kids, not being married and all, but it was inevitable to think about with all this cum flying around. It’d be kinda nice to paddle around all soft and big.

That reminded her—birth control.

Although…

Was she really going to strap her nice big new titties into a massive industrial bra and go off to fuckin work? And send e-mails? And answer the phone? And type? Could she still type with her body this hot and expanded? Every letter would make her brush against her boobs. And then she’d cum.

“Paige, you’ve been in there like a half-hour,” Luke said. “Lets go. And take your damn pill.”

Fair enough. “Family meeting,” Paige said, out loud. No, it didn’t sound that bad.

“I caught your blonde,” Claire said, half-accusing. She was just as shiny as Paige was, now.

“Damn, look at these tits, too!” Paige said, poking a finger into them. They were big and round, a nice contrast with her own, which were more like perfect teardrops. Claire looked a little boob-job-y, to be honest. Her blonde bleach was coming in fast. All tits and ass and hair, they were starting to look a little sister-y. There was a lot of both of them.

“Yep, caught tits,” Claire said. “Listen, your head is all—cottony? Right? That’s the same thing you feel like?”

“I guess,” Paige said. She very slowly frowned. “Is this another ‘Paige-is-dumb’ thing? I am not dumb. I’m just blonde and boobsy. There’s a difference. Do I really have to read a fuckin bunch of novels during this flu thing just to prove it?”

Claire leaned back into the old couch and rubbed at her eyes. “It’s cool,” she said, waving a hand. “You know what? Whatever. Who cares. Fuckin whatever. All my leg hair fell off in the shower and I feel super dumb but its fine.”

“Same!” Paige said. She bounced experimentally on her rear end. It was feeling more padded, although not as big as Claire’s enormous rump. “Claire, what are you wearing?”

“Men’s swim trunks,” Claire reported. “And a spider-man t-shirt. I’m through with bras and panties and shit.”

The swim trunks seemed like a good idea, given how juicy they both were. Paige had managed to get her ass into her loosest pair of tights, plus a crop top that showed a ton of underboob. She looked at Claire, thoughtful. Family meeting. Maybe she’d been thinking about this whole, competition for Luke’s dick thing all wrong.

“Okay girls,” Luke said. He’d dressed himself in his old clothes, which didn’t fit his new body at all. His shorts looked dug in to his waist, which, to be fair, was fighting back with a bunch of new abs. “Here’s the thing.”

“Girls?” Paige said. Should she be standing, to get more respect? She was kinda sprawled on the floor, legs splayed open. She really needed to stop pointing her pussy at wherever it was Luke was. It was demeaning.

“You want to be called, what? Sluts? Pussies?” Luke said, folding his arms. Putting on his old clothes looked like it had been a strain. Even his feet were bigger, peeking over the tips of his sandals.

“Women or ladies,” Paige said. “Or girls.”

‘Girls it is. Listen, babes, I have a theory. I think something is going on.”

“You think?” Claire said. They all looked at her. It was delivered with such an innocent chirp that no one was sure if Claire was still being sarcastic or not. Claire herself didn’t seem very sure. She chewed on a long fingernail. Paige wondered, distracted, if she had any nail polish in a bag somewhere.

Luke decided to ignore it. “Obviously there’s a—something. Changing us. But exhibit A—the porno.” It was still playing, and had gotten progressively more hardcore as time had gone on. Some girl on-screen was getting her ass completely pounded, while three others looked on, horny and gasping, rubbing their clits as they waited their turn. It had been on all night, come to think—Paige had vaguely heard it while she slept. “The entire internet is made out of porn. That’s weird. Very weird.”

He paused, expectantly, and then deflated a bit. “Am I getting stupid too?” Luke muttered, before deciding not to show indecision in front of the bimbos. “Also our phones are acting weird and so is the radio. I think this was all planned. It’s a biological attack. We’re being made horny, deliberately.”

He eyed them dramatically.

Paige’s hands flew to her mouth. She gasped. It was honestly all sort of beyond her—she’d spent the speech trying to figure out what color to paint her toes. But Luke looked like he’d said something important. It seemed to gratify him.

“So the plan is we fight this. We fight and we stay who we are,” Luke said. “It is NOT going to change us. We’re not going to.. do… what our urges are constantly demanding we… put in your bellies.. this very moment. Now. I’m going to go to the restaurant and see if they have any more food, but first, line up so I can cum in your mouths.”

Paige frowned. She was all for the cum part but—line up? With Claire? What had happened to the blowjob and cup system? That seemed like it was working just fine, especially for Paige. “Honey? What about…” she pantomimed trying to get a really big dick in her mouth, and then spitting into an imaginary cup. “Did that make sense? I was saying, why don’t I give you a nice long blowie and then spit it into a cup. For Claire.”

“We are limiting actual sexual content,” Luke said. “And I’m in a hurry. Line up or get left out. I’m not even gonna touch you. I can just cum whenever, with like a stroke. It shoots super far, too. My dick is fuckin’ enormous now.” He seemed to lose his own train of thoughts, absently rubbing at his pants. They were wholly swollen with dick. “I have such a huge dick now. Damn.”

“You can be first in line,” Claire said, consoling, but absolutely setting up for her shot.

“There’s no first with TWO PEOPLE, dummy,” Paige said. Luke had pulled his cock out. It bobbed in front of him. He had turned to the porno running on TV and seemed totally absorbed in it. His penis was already drooling precum. “Luke? Babe?”

“Huh? Oh.” he still seemed distracted by the video. It was catchy—Paige kept finding herself turning to it, whenever she wasn’t actively looking at something else. It was funny, every so often she’d think—it’s playing music. There’s music in the room, right now. And then it would just fade away. A cum shot on screen snapped them all out of it. “Right. Right, okay,” Luke rubbed at his eyes. “Lets get this done, bimbos.”

Claire got into what all of them recognized as the perfect pose. Her tongue stuck all the way out, her head tilted back, arms in front of her, tense and on the floor, her thighs splayed apart. It communicated, very purely, a girl extremely excited to get bathed in jism. Paige tried to counter with her back arched, mouth open like a fountain—to show off her tits. But it was clearly second best. And her damn fiancee was staring at the TV again, jacking his dick, like he didn’t have two horny sluts waiting patiently.

“Luke! Cum!” Paige said, eventually. He tore his eyes away, stroking his oversized dick at a furious pace.

“Right, right,” he said, swiveled his hips, and came all over Claire. First.

Paige’s world fell apart.

Inch by inch Claire the invader had taken things, had wormed away the engagement ring Paige no longer could even wear. And now her to-be was casually spunking her up first and foremost, the best load. Warmest and thickest. Claire diligently caught as much of it as she could in her mouth. She fell forwards, arms shaking. Paige nearly turned down her turn, zipping her mouth closed, but Luke clearly still had big heavy balls that needed to be emptied out. At least she kept her composure, no stranger to a big batch of jism in her mouth. But it was no real comfort. She fell silent, sullen.

“Alright, that should keep you two sluts,” Luke said. “I’m gonna—I have some movies on my laptop for you. I think we gotta stop watching this—this porn.” he stopped talking again. Despite depositing two loads of jizz into two girls he was still very much hard. His cock was as thick as his forearm and looked downright primordial. “You two watch them and, I don’t know, clean up. Don’t touch yourselves, it’ll just make things worse. I’ll be back with food. No phones, no music, no porno. Okay?”

Paige gave him a terse nod that he didn’t pay attention to at all.

“Great. I’m turning off the porn. Right now.”

Five minutes later, he actually did it.

“I’m super struggling to follow this,” said the invader. The whore. The bimbo slut. “That’s so sad. Ohmygod Paige. We’re like super big bimbos now. Gosh! Poop!”

“One fish is lost and the other fish is finding him,” Paige said. “Come on Claire. Keep it together.”

“Ohhhhh,” Claire said, a minute later. “Okay. We can do this.” Like she hadn’t just betrayed her best friend.

They were both on the couch, legs splayed, covertly watching each other for any hint of masturbation. Luke had told them not to.

“Paige?” Claire said.

“Oh my god you dumb slut. They are finding Nemo! Its in the title I think!”

“No, no, its not that,” Claire said. “Do you, you know, think we’ll go back to normal when the virus is all out of our system?”

She looked sidelong at Paige. It was a big opportunity. They were both so air-headed and sex-soaked that reassurance would definitely work.

“What, you’re unhappy with all this?” Paige said, avoiding her gaze. “You don’t look sad. You look cummy.” It was a low blow. Both of them had diligently mopped up and cleaned up. There wasn’t a speck of sperm anywhere, besides inside them.

“I’m BLONDE now,” Claire said. She was getting even lighter than Paige. Paige had a sense they were going to need nametags, once this was all over. They were both mostly ass and titty, facial features softened, hair in golden waves. Maybe they’d get their names tattooed right above each pussy. Or should it be somewhere she could read it? “I feel like if I try to do math I’ll just sneeze the rest of my brains out! I’m sitting here trying super hard not to touch my clit and trying to figure out the plot of a kid movie! It sucks, yes, I’m saying that, gosh! I thought you’d be like, yeah Claire it mega-sucks.”

“Then why are you trying to hard to steal Lukey?” Paige whined. She flushed, which her new body misinterpreted as arousal. Or maybe not—maybe that’s just how her body worked, these days. She went almost dizzy with lust. She reached out to Claire to slap or kiss or who knows what, and they ended up kissing. Her breath tasted like Luke and girl, and it was intoxicating and infuriating. She was so mad at this nymph who was digging her fingers into Paige’s pussy. Generically tired, hungry, they rubbed against each other, soothing in the sparks. Eventually Paige managed to pull her tongue free.

“Enough,” she said, gasping. They were both starving and bereft. All the food was gone, inside all of them. All three of them had burned enormous amounts of calories and converted the rest to brand new bodies. Claire looked horny and hurt. “No more! I am done. I am done, super done, very done with this stupid virus shit and being sexy all the time and being just a leaky pussy with legs. You can have my boyfriend if you want him so bad because I am DONE.” Paige put all her old personality into the last word. It was only even possible with no man around. They were both on edge, losing the comfort of his scent.

“Paigey—” Claire started, but she refused to hear it, bounding out the back door with no shoes, no sandals.

The lake washed on, uncaring that she had spent the past few days adding about thirty or forty pounds of tits and miscellaneous, her clit cherry red. Her thighs rubbed together when she walked. There was a lot more of her. Paige resolved to ignore all of that. If she walked long enough it would all melt away, all the boobs and butt, leaving her back normal in no time.

Of course, there was no guarantee Luke wanted Old Paige back.

Actually, he almost certainly didn’t.

Paige sniffled and wiped her nose. Ultimately life had been going fine. Her average fiancee, her normal wedding, her standard life. And now she was not just sex-addled and silly but she was the second sexiest transformed slut in her own house. It figured. The only good news was she could still count to two. But then, she’d had a lot of practice, her whole life.

“Shtay back, whore!”

Upset, tears streaking, Paige hadn’t noticed the jogger woman approaching from the upset way. The woman had her hand up, imperious. She also had an enormous pair of cocksucker lips.

“Oh, geez!” Paige said, catching herself. “Sorry. Sorry!”

The virus had saved its best work for the woman.

She’d struggled to put her boobs underneath a form-fitting running top, and failed, leaving them jiggling loose with underboob showing. Her pants were torn into shreds, the knees bursting through, the thighs reduced to thin strips of nylon heroically stitched together. She’d put on heels for the jog, and a full caked face of makeup. Especially dark red ruby lipstick.

Paige realized she was staring. It was mostly the lips. They were puffy and pillowy, and clearly hard to talk through. Was this what happened to a girl with no ready supply of cum? Did the virus interpret it as needing to make an extra effort? “Are you alright?”

“No, I’m fuckin not,” the jogger admitted. “This shucks. And I have to run all the way into town to see if Mr. Shtevens has a lil cummy for my tummy, and its like ten milesh, and I don’t need more virush from some… some whore…”

She turned towards Paige, full-front. “You shmell good,” the jogger said.

Paige took a step, and then two steps backwards. It was the worst possible move to make. She’d backed up into the lake almost immediately. “What?” she said.

“You’ve been guzzling cum, haven’t you?” the jogger demanded. “Shave—shav—” she made a special effort. “SAVEing it all for yourself? I have been sho good! I’ve had almost nothing! Nothing! Jusht a tiny sip and sometimes off the floor to boot! Not getting caught in that big fuck orgy in town! And I shtill got these sthtupid spermsucker LIPS!” she advanced faster, heels relentless on the shoreline. Paige backed into the water, up to her knees.

“Just let me lick shome,” the jogger said, intent. Her hair was a patchwork of blonde and dark black, a disconcerting domino. “Just off your face.”

“Stop!” Claire said. “I’ve got a gun! Behind my back!”

She stood on the tiny rocks of the beach, one hand behind her back, jaw jutted out. Paige felt a surge of relief, that her body also recognized as arousal. Claire was beautiful, legs set, fierce and determined. Lube dripped between her legs.

“Really?” the jogger said, eventually.

“She’s my friend and you need to fuck off!” Claire said. “Go get your own cum! Don’t make me pull my hand out from behind my back! It is holding a gun with bullets in it!”

The jogger hesitated, glared at the both of them.

“Lucky shluts,” she said, and turned away. “Don’t know how good you fucking have it.” Her ass had reduced the running pants to tatters. They watched her leave, her back straight, her rear swaying. Paige stepped out of the water.

“Thanks Claire,” she said, after awhile. She kept her head looking down at the beach.

“No problem sis,” Claire said. They hugged. It was really nice. A few tears flowed. That was nice too.

Sis, that was worth thinking about, if she could manage it. “Where’d you get a gun?” Paige said, curious.

They walked back very slowly, thighs rubbing against each other, arms around each other. Claire kept touching her friend, disbelieving—where did these thighs come from? Where did these enormous tits develop? They’d been shoved into these voluptuous, oversexed bodies so quickly, there’d been no time to think about any of it. It was hard enough keeping up with physical demands: food, jizz, food. It’d be nice if she just got some time to process. Particularly about almost certainly getting knocked up by her good friend’s fiancee.

Claire had woken up and known. True, the cum still gently dribbling out of her was a big hint. But she just felt… different, and not from just the new sack of bedsheets and cotton balls that had occupied the inside of her head. A certain tautness in her nipples. The way Luke’s eyes kept dipping to her belly. And a feeling of…satisfaction. A tenseness she hadn’t known was growing had snapped. She felt good. A fake good, an induced good, but good. Complete.

Claire let her friend rest her head on her shoulder. That was going to be a tough conversation. She’d have to plan it out, and rehearse it, because her smarts felt like a puff of smoke. “Paige, super sorry, Luke dumped a load in me and I am SUPER fertile.”

“What?” Paige said.

Had she really said that out loud? “What?” Claire said back. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up, and her nipples popped out. Every emotion getting rerouted into sex was gonna get real annoying.

“You were, like, whispering something?”

“I’m just saying, I’m glad we’re together,” Claire said. And the fact was: it was true. Perhaps she was just dwelling on the alternatives, which were grim indeed. She remembered a little of the trip into town. It was like sinking into the sea. A breeding frenzy.

“Sisters?” Paige said, extending one of those—Claire couldn’t remember. Some sort of special tree branch that was peaceful. Apple maybe. Whatever.

“Do you really think so?” Claire said, to buy time. It wasn’t clear what Paige was even offering.

“I mean, we smell the same,” like Luke, she meant, “we kinda look the same, we’ve had our hands all over each other, I think we’re more than FRIENDS, slut butt,” Paige said. She slapped Claire on the ass, fondly. Both of them jiggled all over.

“Yeah but sisters don’t usually suck on each other’s titties,” Claire said. What a tragedy. Even made over into a fuck toy, and rougly bred, it was her lot to carefully consider the feelings of others. “And, you know. Get spunked by the fiancee. I don’t know. I didn’t have a sister. I had like, a bunch of brothers.”

They walked quietly, two softened minds trying to come up with a solution.

Claire stopped when it occurred to her. She was proud of herself, immediately, her baby-battered mind still tossing out a brilliant one. It was a joyful, perfect solution. Old Claire, the one with just little titties and tons of smarts, would’ve been proud. Horrified, of course, at the New Claire with boobs gearing up to spray milk. But maybe mildly impressed. “Paige, we gotta marry you off! Holy shit! Oh my god!!!”

The father of her child looked so haggard. Part of that was he was covered in hair, downright brutish. In a hot, sexy male way, of course, but definitely pretty beasty. He moved with a deliberate slowness that was equally sexy, plus there was the outline of his enormous dick in his shorts. Claire sniffed the air to build a complete picture of his emotional wellbeing. He’d cum recently. He was feeling very aggressive and high-strung. A tinge of regret, a lot horny.

“Don’t go in yet,” Claire said, putting up a hand. She’d enjoyed a nice thirty minutes by herself, while Paige busied herself with makeup and her wedding outfit. They’d celebrated the nuptials by getting in between each other’s legs, and if Claire still tasted like Luke down there, Paige hadn’t shown any sign of realizing it. Actually it had been very nice, the two of them starting to relax and just enjoy each other. And there was so much to enjoy. There was a lot to regret, a lot to worry about, but the fact was, her new clitty was super fucking fun.

“I’ve got peri… perish… uhhhh…” Luke narrowed his eyebrows, a sure sign he was struggling with a word himself. She headed him off before he got frustrated, angry.

“Ice cream will be fine, we’re still getting ready, big guy,” Claire said.

“I did a lot to get this ice cream,” Luke said.

“Did you dick down that restaurant lady and then just clean out her freezer?”

Luke paused, then decided not to take that as an insult. “Yes.”

They looked at each other. Scent and looks were doing a lot of the work that words and thinking used to. Luke’s said: I knocked you up and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, I’d fuck you right here. But I feel a little guilty about it. Claire’s said: I know. “We’re getting ready for the wedding,” Claire admitted.

“Whose?” Luke said. He did that half-head shake again. It didn’t help that each helpless, ditzy moment made each other ragingly horny. Claire’s swim shorts were damp already. This strong dumb man needed to nail her into the ground. “Oh. Today is the day, huh? You two decided?”

“I mean, I’m not going anywhere, OBVIOUSLY,” Claire said. She let her legs fall open. “But yeah you totally gotta make an honest woman out of her! I mean you are just coating her with sperm, that’s married shit. Gotta put a ring on it, especially if you want to do butt stuff with her. That’s fair.”

“Uh-huh. And what’s your job gonna be?” he sniffed. “You smell… different.”

“Bad?” Claire said, suddenly cautious.

“No,” he sniffed again. His erection had to hurt. “Better.” Ah. Ah-hah. That explained a lot.

Might as well get it out in the open. “That’s probably because you knocked me up,” Claire confessed. It hadn’t really hit her yet that she had been bred. Her time horizon was about the next few hours, no more. Although she was dumb hungry. “Yeah. You bred me. Not that I blame you or anything, I kinda remember it? I was on the hood of the car or—oh. You can still see my titties in the dust.” There were two clear imprints of girl bodies getting rocked on the hood.

Luke scratched at his hair. “It could’ve just been me and Paige here,” he said. “No infection. No horse dicks, no bimbo bodies, no nothing. We’d be playing Uno and remembering how it was played instead of being all dumb and shit. And then you showed up.”

He gave her a portentous look. Claire would’ve laughed, if it was possible to do that to a boy.

“You wanna fuck me again, don’t you, big boy? You wanna fuck me right now.” Claire teased. His feeble protests were having no effect on her at all. Had he forgotten she could smell him, see him? He was staring directly at her pussy during his little speech. He’d probably recited it on the drive back, all upset at himself over impregnating wifey’s good friend. “I bet if I got back on the hood you’d go for another round, huh? You liked putting a baby in me, didn’t you? I bet you’d do it again if I got on that hood and put my ass in the air. Tell me I’m wrong.”

His face was a dull red, and Claire backed off. It was obvious he was having a struggle reconciling his lust to dump dumb loads of cum into fertile girls with his pre-existing personality. Claire slammed her thighs shut. It probably wasn’t helping to send loads of pheromones his way, anyway.

Another brilliant idea occurred to her.

“I got an idea that’ll make everything better,” she said. “It’s gonna be my wedding present to you two.”

Luke took several deep breaths before responding. “What’s that?”

“Wait right here,” Claire said. She strode inside, waggling her ass at Luke. It wasn’t like he was wrong. This sorta maybe was her fault. But she could fix it. Over in the master bedroom, she could hear Paige humming what little she remembered of Here Comes The Bride.

After fixing it she walked back outside and sat back in the old wooden bench. It was a really nice day out. She’d left a wet patch on the slats. She sat back down on top of it. “There, all done.”

Luke hadn’t moved. “What’d you do?” he growled.

“I flushed all of Paigey’s birth control down the potty. You’re welcome.”

It was a wonderful wedding.

They held it out back on the porch, with Claire officiating. It took awhile to get to it, as Luke had immediately gone inside to start the lengthy process of putting a baby inside of Paige. She’d protested mildly about Luke ruining her makeup, but didn’t seem to really mind, and besides—doggy-style didn’t particularly do anything to lipstick and eyeliner and concealer.

Paige had attended her nuptials in a nice white chemise and jean cutoffs that had probably belonged to her Dad. They’d put a napkin on her back for the veil. No shoes, but Claire suspected they were going to both be barefoot in the kitchen for a long time, so that was okay. Luke had ended up getting really into it. He’d gone barechested with black pants—zipper undone so his body could fit. Happy miracle, they’d found a clip-on bowtie in one of the drawers. It didn’t fit around his muscular, taut neck, but Claire was able to hook it on to the front of his chest hairs. That stuff was like velcro.

She hadn’t tried to read anything in the ceremony. After two brilliant ideas in one day Claire felt absolutely exhausted by any intellectual effort. She’d instead talked up how fucking hot the two were and how sexy it was when they fucked. She’d concluded with “and now lets go make some babies!” which had made Paige blush while Luke nodded vigorously. The only version of “Here Comes The Bride” that worked on their phones had that same usual catchy porno pop beat attached, but it worked.

They’d actually kissed, which made Claire’s eyes well up. It was so romantic, and only slightly less so when Paige started vigorously tugging on Luke’s dick at the same time.

After the wedding they’d sat down and eaten through the entire contents of the back trunk, including four gallons of mostly melted ice cream. Then Paige had been carried to the bridal bed, already impaled on her new husband’s dick.

Claire stirred her ice cream bowl around. She’d licked the bowl clean. It was going to have to do for dessert. She was full blonde now, had lost the last of her dark roots at some point during dinner, when she’d licked a tray of bacon clean. She supposed her body needed the nutrients. But they had enough for awhile—Luke had apparently really given it to the waitress lady, who was “really needing it”, and left her a dribbling mess on the floor.

She just had to believe that the virus would just pass through and move on. Any moment now the fever would break, and she would take her fingers out of her snatch, lick them clean, and resume her life. They’d all have a good laugh about those several days enjoying each other’s bodies, being horny and silly, making big bimbo bodies like preparing for the winter. Sure, they’d all have big round bellies soon enough, but life would go on.

And while she was waiting for that, Claire didn’t see any reason not to enjoy herself. Paige definitely was. The blushing bride had found her dirty side, yelling at Luke to “fuck this dumb cunt”. Even from out in the kitchen, Claire could hear them thrusting into each other. They’d have to make wedding rings out of pipe cleaners or something.

“Claire!” Luke said, sternly. Claire dropped her spoon.

“Get your fat ass in here. Face down on the floor. Lets go. We’re on honeymoon and I need to fuck your butt.”

Claire stood up. She fiddled with her hair, and walked as fast as her big butt could waddle. They were waiting for her, sitting next to each other on the bed. The three of them looked back and forth. So, this is what it was going to be.

“Face down,” Luke ordered. Claire obliged, hardly believing it. Really? Was this for her? Paige giggled softly, enjoying the view. “Take those dumb shorts off first, slut,” Luke said, not really annoyed. He shimmied them down for her. Paige cooed in appreciation.

“Go slow,” her sister-slut urged. “Go super slow.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Luke said. He put both hands on her hips. Claire felt the tip of a dick brush against her pussy. She tried not to push back against it. This was a wedding too, in a way. It was kinda sexy sacred.

“Unnnnghh,” she said, face in the carpet. Luke teased it nice and slow until about halfway, when he lost patience, and shoved his cock all the way inside her. Claire loved every inch of it.